


Haven's Trouble

by enigmalea



Series: Of Many Hearts [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aravas is doing things, Awkward Flirting, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Flirting, POV Multiple, Pining, Poor Cullen, injuries (not super graphic), poor Varric, tags and ratings to be updated as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2019-11-08 18:43:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17986586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmalea/pseuds/enigmalea
Summary: There was an explosion at the Conclave and Aravas has awoken to a hole in the sky and a glowing mark which is the key to sealing it. She has agreed to help, but is hoping she can get this completed and get back to her Clan as soon as possible. Why? She's surrounded by crazy shems who think she's their Chosen One, an elven apostate who seriously unnerves her, and a dwarf who seems to be having a love affair with his crossbow. This was supposed to be a simple spying mission, but now... it's a whole bunch of trouble.If someone had told Aravas Ladahlen Lavellan she'd have gone to the Temple of the Sacred Ashes to spy on peace talks between the Templars and the rebel mages and woken up in chains in a dark room with searing pain roaring through her body and no memory of what had happened, she never would have believed it. But there she'd been, lying on a cold stone floor with a sickening, pulsing, roaring pain. It seemed to emanate from her left hand, but it was omnipresent, pulsing away in her ears, her head, her jaw, down into her feet. It was loudest in her head. Or hand. Or heart. Something. With an 'h'. Words were… hard⭐️ Main storyline for the Of Many Hearts Series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work will **not** make much sense to you if you have not read part 1 of the series ([Before There Was A Herald)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17363696), particularly when things are from Solas' POV. Do yourself a favor and read it!
> 
> * * *
> 
> As always:  
> Elvhen names came from [FenxShiral's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenxShiral/pseuds/FenxShiral) fantastic [Project Elvhen: Book of Names](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401050?view_full_work=true).
> 
> * * *
> 
> **follow me for updates:** [ao3 (click subscribe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmalea/profile) ☆ [tumblr](http://enigmalea.tumblr.com) ☆ [twitter](https://twitter.com/enigmaleaDA)  
>  **prompt me:** [how to](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/post/185117840754) ☆ [submit](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/ask) ☆ [read on tumblr](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/tagged/my-drabbles) ☆ [read on ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19825843)
> 
>  **join me @:** [The Hanged Man Discord](https://discord.gg/U4Y5uCR) for DA fanfic readers, writers, and betas! (Please note the server is NSFW and 18+ only.)

### Prologue

As he knelt beside the shaking body, curled in on itself in a poor attempt to mitigate the pain, Solas knew with a certainty he hadn't previously felt, he should have _never_ left Clan Lavellan. His plans had begun to fall apart almost the instant he'd left. He had contacted Merrill only to find the elf a bit reluctant to help him. She'd eventually allowed him to use the Eluvian after much cajoling and many promises he barely remembered making.

It hadn't made a difference.

Felassan had failed to gain control of a vital section of the Eluvian network, and that power now rested in the hands of an elf who was grasping at short-sighted straws to align herself with shemlen in a pathetic attempt to "save" her people. What Briala wanted was power from the powerful, not to help the elves. In his rage and disappointment (and perhaps a little in his grief at having lost Aravas), Solas had killed Felassan without a thought. Aravas would think him a monster if she knew.

But it seemed Fate was not content with that as his only failure.

His agents had allowed an ancient, mad Tevinter magister to retrieve his orb, under his own instructions. He hadn't wanted to resort to that, but in his estimation,  it would take him years to regain enough power to unlock his orb, and he did not want to wait _years_ before returning to Aravas.

Now it seemed in his impatience he might lose her completely.

He couldn't understand why she wasn't with her Clan and why she was at the Conclave to begin with. He wasn't sure how she'd managed to take his anchor. He wasn't sure how she was still alive, but, by the Void, he was going to make sure she stayed that way for as long as he possibly could.

 

 

 

 

### Chapter 1

If someone had told Aravas Ladahlen Lavellan she'd have gone to the Temple of the Sacred Ashes to spy on peace talks between the Templars and the rebel mages and woken up in chains in a dark room with searing pain roaring through her body and no memory of what had happened, she never would have believed it. But there she'd been, lying on a cold stone floor with a sickening, pulsing, roaring pain. It seemed to emanate from her left hand, but it was omnipresent, pulsing away in her ears, her head, her jaw, down into her feet. It was loudest in her head. Or hand. Or heart. Something. With an 'h'. Words were… hard.

And then came a series of events which left her dizzy and reeling. She'd been into the Beyond - Fade (she had to use their words now) - and been delivered from it by a woman, who many were claiming to be Andraste herself (absurd), with this glowing green mark which was capable of sealing holes in the Veil that were spitting out _demons_. She was granted her freedom (sort of), allowed a staff, and declared Herald of Andraste. She'd met a beautiful diplomat, a boyishly handsome ex-Templar, and a sexy redhead who could kill her more than a thousand different ways; there was an elven apostate who was standoffish and cold and strangely familiar though she couldn't place why, a dwarf who she was pretty sure was having a love affair with his crossbow, and a Nevarran woman who alternately seemed to want to kill her and worship her. But that wasn't all: there was an acidic potions master, a gruff blacksmith, a traitorous requisitions officer, a barmaid, a bard, a Grand Chancellor (whatever in the Void that was) and a partridge in a pear tree.

And to top it off, every single one of these people expected her to somehow save the world… or in the Grand Chancellor's case, doom it.

A scouting party had been sent to the Hinterlands nearby, because apparently, a high-ranking Chantry Mother had requested to meet with her among the warring Templars and mages, and it had been made known to her once the report was received, she was expected to find the woman - and stop the fighting and help some refugees, if possible. For now, though, she was free to do as she wished, and for Aravas, that meant she was going to prepare for this trip. Although some part of her knew it wasn't likely to work this way, she silently hoped if she played along for just a little while, they'd let her go back to her Clan.

Her father and Deshanna were bound to be worried about her, especially if news of the explosion had made it as far as the Free Marches. She only hoped they didn't think she was dead.

The cabin she'd woken up in after sealing the rift and stabilizing the Breach had become hers, and she slipped from the bed with a groan. The armor they'd provided her with was not a style she was used to, and it took her a while to put it on. As she stepped out into the snow, she hissed in pain, the cold air beginning to freeze her toes already. Boots. She'd forgotten boots. She ducked back into the cabin and grabbed the soft leather boots, hopping into them as she made her way down the path to the center of the town.

The dwarf - Varric - always seemed to be in the center of things, hanging out by a fire with a tankard of ale and weaving tales for anyone who'd stop to listen. This morning was no different, though the tankard wasn't present. Instead, he had broken apart his crossbow which he was oiling and repairing. He was telling a story, but the crossbow was the only thing that was listening.

Her boots crunched softly on the fresh snow as she veered from the path and sat across from him on a log. Varric, Cassandra, and Solas had all agreed to accompany her to the Hinterlands, so she decided she might as well get to know them. She also needed to figure out how they felt about these people deciding she was in charge… and she needed to gauge how much they knew about the situation at large.

"Morning, Varric," she said cheerfully as she sat on a log across from him. "I wasn't kidding, you know, she's a beauty."

"Morning, Herald," he replied with a nod. "Bianca's one of a kind and the best crossbow that's ever been created. You know anything about crossbows or are you just trying to get on my good side?" He shot her a grin, which she easily returned.

"Little bit of both, actually. Listen… Varric… could you not call me that - Herald of Andraste, I mean. It's… odd. Just call me Aravas." She watched him as he diligently squeezed oil onto the springs and muttered to himself.

He didn't seem to be paying attention at all, so she was surprised when he looked back up at her with hazel eyes sparkling and said, "look, don't take it personally. Everyone gets a nickname, and I haven't figured yours out yet, so I went with what everyone else is calling you."

"But… do you believe it, though? That I'm the Herald of Andraste?" she asked. She knew Cassandra did, and she assumed Solas did not, but Varric was a bit hard to read.

"Maybe you are, maybe you aren't. What's important is _they_ think you are. What about you? What do you believe?"

"Hmm," she hummed softly. Varric was a slippery one, avoiding her question and trying to feel her out. "I don't know," she settled. "I believe I entered the Fade and came back out not remembering what happened. I believe witnesses saw a woman help me out of the Fade, and I believe they think she was Andraste. Is it possible? Sure. It's also possible it was something else. Until I remember, I'm going to let more important people than me decide what everyone should believe. Besides… a Dalish mage probably shouldn't be walking around trying to tell Andrastians she's the chosen one, right?"

Varric chuckled a bit. "You have a point there. So, what are your plans today?"

"Just trying to figure out where I stand and prep for this trip to the Hinterlands. The potions master wants me to see about retrieving some notes for him; I need to talk to the Requisitions Officer about supplies. What else we need to do depends heavily on the report from the scouts. I need some idea of what we're walking into. We should probably talk fighting strategy and settle on hand signals," she said with a heavy sigh. "How long does it take to get from here to the Hinterlands anyway?"

"About a week on horseback," Varric said. "What's a Dalish mage know about hand signals?"

"I was supposed to be a hunter, so a lot," she replied with a grin. She didn't let him see the slight panic she had when he's said 'horseback'; she shoved it down deep but knew exactly what she needed to do next. "Hey… so… you're Varric Tethras, right? The author?"

"What's a Dalish mage know about Varric Tethras the author?" he asked as he finished re-assembling his crossbow, a grin on his face as he intentionally repeated similar phrasing. She had a feeling he was going to be asking her 'What's a Dalish mage know about' a lot. He wiped his hands clean with a rag and regarded her closely as if he was trying to figure her out.

"Not much," she admitted. "But my clan travels the Free Marches, so we picked up The Tale of the Champion to get a better understanding of what happened in Kirkwall. Is it all true?"

"Most of it. Truth with a few creative liberties for storytelling purposes," he said.

"So were the Champion and Anders…"

"A love story for the ages," Varric confirmed with a nod. "Two mages with two completely different experiences but who both really wanted the same thing. Anders… just… got tired of waiting."

"It's hard being treated as less," Aravas said without thinking. "Is Hawke really as handsome and charming as you write him to be?"

"If sarcasm, a quick wit, and an ability to attract trouble are your thing, then yes," Varric said.

"So, yes," Aravas said with a laugh. "Although, really, my only type is intelligent. Wit and sarcasm help. I enjoy a good conversation. Maybe a bit of danger or challenge or mystery, if I'm being honest. Easy on the eyes doesn't hurt."

Varric joined in with her laugh. "I think he'd like you, which is not necessarily a good thing. The two of you together would be Trouble - with a capital T." His eyes widened a bit as she described her type, a faint blush appearing as he seemed to think maybe she was hitting on him. Maybe she was, a little. Flirting tended to disarm people. "No other requirements? Human? Elf? Male? Female? Skinny? Fat? Nothing?"

She shrugged a bit. "I mean, I've never been attracted to a portly human woman before, but I can't rule it out. I come from a world of limited options, and I've left that all behind now. Might as well explore while I can. You never know maybe a dwarf with a silver tongue, a steady hand, and a quick wit will be exactly what I need in my life."

The blush crept lower and darker, appearing beneath the hair on his chest. Varric cleared his throat and looked away from her, unwilling to meet her gaze. She'd managed to make him uncomfortable which she felt was some sort of a feat. He finally stopped avoiding her gaze after a few moments and decided to tend to the fire before settling back down across from her. "Your clan travels the Free Marches? You ever met Merrill? Of Clan Sabrae?" The obvious topic change was telling, and Aravas tried not to smirk.

"Probably," she replied hesitantly. "A few clans that fled to the Marches during the Blight intermingled for a while. Plus, there's Arlathvhen. I can't say for certain that I've met her, though."

"She was the First for her clan," Varric offered helpfully.

"Then I probably have met her," Aravas admitted. It occurred to Aravas he was probably just asking so he could ask Merrill what her impression of Aravas was, but that was fine with her. So far as she knew, she wasn't terribly disliked by any of her own people. The worst he might get would be a statement of ambivalence. "I'm better with faces than names and a lot better with names than dates."

They fell into silence, then, and Aravas realized how disconcerting her flirting with him had been for the dwarf. In the short time she'd been around him, Varric Tethras had never been lost for words. She wasn't sure it was a good thing, but it didn't seem to be a bad thing, either, yet. It was best not to let the silence linger too long with someone like him. "Well, I need to check in with the Commander," she said standing and stretching abruptly. "It was nice talking with you."

"You too, Herald," Varric replied.

She had made it almost to the stairs before she remembered something and turned back. "Oh, and Varric, if Bianca keeps getting gummed up because of the temperatures, try mixing some liquor with the oil you're using. Oil thickens with low temperatures, but alcohol doesn't," she winked at him, before bouncing down the stairs, leaving him to stare after her.

As she crossed through the front gate and out where the soldiers were, Aravas was greeted with a cacophony of noise. Her stomach rumbled slightly, and she shivered due to the cold. She could use breakfast and tea, but Varric had said something which made her realize she had another extremely important task to complete.

"You there! There's a shield in your hand, block with it! If this man were your enemy, you'd be dead!" Commander Cullen's voice rose over the din, and Aravas' eyes found him easily. He was tall and broad, but still boyishly handsome, and Aravas found him easy to look at. She didn't want to interrupt, however, so she stood aside waiting on him to finish what he was doing.

Her eyes slid for a moment to Cassandra, the Nevarran Seeker's gaze met hers and she tipped her head in greeting. If possible, Cassandra scowled further. It seemed the Seeker would rather kill her than worship her at the moment, so maybe she would speak with her later.

Cullen was suddenly free, so she approached him somewhat cautiously. He caught sight of her and smiled a bit; they'd talked a bit in the previous days, about why he was there and how the soldiers were doing. He seemed to genuinely like her, though he wouldn't weigh in on whether he thought she was actually chosen by Andraste. "Herald-"

"Aravas," she corrected. Even if she wouldn't make a formal statement, she wasn't the Herald of Andraste, she was going to do everything she could to encourage those close to her to see her as normal. He nodded a bit absently and didn't correct himself. "How is training going?"

"Well," he said with a nod. "We will be able to dispatch a group of soldiers who had served previously to the Hinterlands as soon as the scouts' reports are received. Speaking of, Leliana and Josephine have received some reports they'd like to review with you. It seems there may be more rifts than we first anticipated. Our first priority is Mother Giselle and stabilizing the trade routes from the Hinterlands, but once you've met with her and the routes are secured, we may have need of you elsewhere."

Her heart pounded, and she tried her best to keep her breathing even. "Of course," she agreed with a nod. Now was no time to bring up her clan, or when she might get to go home. Maybe, if she sealed some of these smaller rifts, she would gather enough power to seal the Breach. The sooner that was done, the sooner she could return. "Commander, I was hoping that perhaps you would have some free time this afternoon," she began.

He flushed a bit. "Uh… well," his hand rubbed absently at the back of his head, but he glanced at her sideways, almost bashfully. "I'm not entirely sure that would be appropriate…"

Oh, Creators, now _he_ thought she was flirting with him. She wasn't. Not that she wouldn't. She felt the heat rise in her own cheeks. "No. It's not that. It is… private… but it's not-"

"Commander. More reports from Ser Rylen," a messenger interrupted. Aravas nearly snapped at him to stop it, if only because every time she tried to speak to Cullen, Ser Rylen mysteriously sent reports. Was this planned? Was Cullen sending some sort of distress signal to messengers indicating he needed to be saved from talking with her? If not, she would certainly have to give Rylen a hard time when she met him.

"I should take care of these," Cullen explained apologetically. "Excuse me." He stepped away with the messenger, unfolding and reading several sheets of paper. He seemed to be responding to several of them immediately, his face a picture of concentration as he scratched his answers (or his signature or something) quickly.

Aravas watched, her ire and determination rising with every sheet of paper the former Knight-Captain reviewed. As he neared the last one, she made her way through the drilling soldiers and approached him again. "Commander, excuse me, but I wasn't done speaking with you," she said with determination.

Cullen turned to meet her the faint blush reappearing again; he signed the paper and handed it to the messenger who gave her a look before slipping off. "I-I apologize," he said softly.

She locked her steel-colored eyes with his amber ones, narrowing them slightly. "I understand you're busy, but this is the second time we've been interrupted due to this Rylen sending reports. Is that code, or does he just like to write you that frequently?"

"It's all business, I assure you," Cullen stated. He seemed to square his shoulders automatically, like a soldier receiving a dressing down, and he looked away from her slightly. Aravas almost wished she had a height advantage, so she could use that against him. It was difficult to make someone take you seriously when you were raging _up_ at them. "I didn't mean to offend."

"I'm sorry for the impression I gave you earlier. My need for your time is _private_ in nature, but not _personal_. I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable," Aravas began.

Cullen seemed to relax a bit, but his blush grew impossibly darker. "Oh," he said softly, his eyes widening as he realized the mistake of his assumption. "I see…"

She lowered her voice a bit. "That's not to say it would be unpleasant to spend time with you in such a way, but that wasn't my intention." Cullen's blush was nearly the shade of the fabric he'd draped over his armor. "Varric said earlier it takes almost a week on horseback to get to the Hinterlands. Commander, I've never ridden a horse."

He turned to look at her then, relaxing a bit. The blush still hung on his face. "Never?" he asked incredulously.

"I'm Dalish," she offered by way of explanation. "Horses require resources we don't have easily at our disposal - lots of hay and grain, for starters. They need shoeing. They're also expensive."

"Well, I can't imagine the technique would be that different from riding halla-"

"Creators, Cullen! Not all Dalish ride halla into battle!" Her exclamation came out a bit louder than she intended and a few nearby soldiers stopped what they were doing to look at them. Her flush was matching his, but he shot them all a look and they began their drills again. "In fact," she continued, "I would say most of us don't. Most of us tend to avoid battle as much as possible, because antagonizing shemlen hasn't been the best idea for us, historically speaking."

"You know," Cullen began crossing his arms, "for someone who was awfully quick to correct my unfounded stereotypes of the Dalish, you were equally quick to use a term for humans that is intended to be offensive."

Aravas found her mouth opening to fight him, but she couldn't. She lost some of her bluster, then, relaxing a bit under his gaze as she looked away from him. "I apologize. It's… habit. There… really isn't another term for humans in elvish, but while I'm speaking common, I'll do my best to avoid the term."

"Apology accepted," Cullen stated. He was watching her with an expression that was a mix of surprise, intrigue, and respect. He hadn't seemed to expect an apology from her. "For what it's worth, I'm also sorry, and I shall likewise endeavor to keep my prejudices about both Dalish and mages in cheek, Herald, and will ask questions rather than making assumptions."

She met his gaze again, not challenging him as she had been previously, but just taking him in. "All of that being said, Commander, in just a few days, I'll be expected to climb onto a horse and ride to the Hinterlands. I was wondering… hoping… that you would teach me to ride if you aren't too busy."

"Why me?" he asked. Well, it wasn't a no, but it wasn't a yes, either. "Cassandra, Josephine, Leliana - even Varric - all have experience riding."

"I'm a bit afraid of Leliana," she admitted. "Josephine seems overwhelmed with requests from everywhere. Cassandra would either be afraid to tell me I'm messing up or yell at me and Varric - well, he'd get a kick giving me wrong information. I'm not sure we want anyone else to know that not only is the Herald of Andraste a Dalish mage, but she's incompetent, as well."

Cullen sighed, dropping his arms from his chest. His expression turned soft and he shook his head a bit. "You're not incompetent. Inexperienced, maybe, but not incompetent. No one can be expected to know everything." He sighed a bit, "nightly, after supper and before sunset, I can make some time. We don't have time to make you an expert rider, but we can certainly make you passable."

"Ma serannas!" Aravas exclaimed excitedly. "Thank you, Commander," she translated. "I'm a quick study. You won't regret it! I'll meet you at the gate after supper." Without thinking about it, she bounced up to her tiptoes and placed a quick kiss to his cheek. She barely took in the surprised look on his face before she said, "excuse me. I need breakfast and tea!" and bounded off into Haven proper without so much as a backward glance leaving Cullen to stare after her in her wake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aravas is still trying to wrap her head around being the Herald of Andraste... and she spends some time with an extremely frustrating Elven apostate. Then collecting herbs and meetings and horseback riding lessons. A Herald's work is never done.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _"Aravas, then. I know what you meant." The way he said her name… sometimes as breathless as a prayer and others a barely concealed strangled sob. What was it about her that he had such a difficult time dealing with?_
> 
> _"So, have you learned anything about Haven?" she asked. She could nearly see the tension unfurl in him as if he'd decided this was a safe topic for them to discuss. His arms dropped to his sides, he stopped clenching his jaw, and he leaned back against the side of the cabin casually. "I'm not familiar with the history; someone said something about the Hero of Ferelden, but I'm not sure…"_
> 
> _"This was the site of a dragon-worshipping cult before the Fifth Blight."_
> 
> _Aravas nearly choked on her porridge. "A… a what?"_
> 
> _"The entire village was inhabited by a cult who believed Andraste's spirit had been bound to a dragon which roosted in the mountains," Solas explained._

In retrospect, attempting to eat breakfast on the go had not been a brilliant idea. Aravas was slowly walking up the steps to the three cabins next to the Chantry, on her way to check in with Adan. A bowl of porridge was balanced precariously on top of a tankard of hot mulled cider being carried in her left hand, while her right tightly gripped a tea mug. She'd only intended to get tea, but the mulled cider had smelled delicious and Flissa had insisted the Herald of Andraste try it.

"Oh! Aravas." She was concentrating so hard on not spilling anything that Solas' nearly breathless voice caught her off guard and she jumped. She barely managed to catch her porridge, sacrificing some of her tea with the sudden movement and burning her hand with the sloshing liquid in the process.

"Fenedhis!" she swore. Solas was by her side in an instant (had he Fade Stepped to her?), rescuing the porridge and taking the tea from her, placing it on the low wall just outside of the cabin he'd been assigned. Thus far, it was empty other than him, and she wasn't sure if he'd requested it to be that way, or if others had simply refused to share with the enigmatic elven apostate. She shook the tea from her right hand, wincing at the sight of the pinkened skin.

"Allow me," Solas said, reaching out to take her hand. His fingertips danced soothing ice over her skin, stopping the burn from getting worse, and he followed it with a touch of warm healing magic. Solas's magic felt familiar and safe; more than just healing, it was comforting, like coming home after a long journey. The minor burn vanished. She glanced at him, surprised to find him watching her closely and wondering why her heart was beating quicker at the lingering of his hand on hers.

"Thank you," she whispered. That seemed to break the spell between them; Solas dropped her hand as if it had shapeshifted into a giant spider and took a large step back, turning away from her and crossing his arms over his chest. "It seems I'm thanking you a lot lately, but the first one certainly means the most."

She crossed to the wall and hopped up to sit on it, placing the mulled cider next to her as she claimed the bowl of porridge. The porridge they served was rich and heavy; Aravas was not used to grains and cream and sugar or honey in these quantities. The fact it was topped with pear chunks made it even more filling. She took a bite, unable to stop herself from gagging at what tasted like cloying sweetness to her and quickly chased it with some unsweetened tea.

"It was nothing. A matter of self-preservation, if I'm honest. If I had not gotten results, I would have been in chains or executed with you," Solas replied.

"My life is not 'nothing', Solas," she countered. "Whatever your motivation when you came, you helped me when I was at my weakest and I appreciate it."

"So, you've said." The reply was curt and sharp. Aravas just barely prevented herself from calling him a prat. They hadn't known one another long, but there was always this push and pull between them, a give and take Aravas couldn't figure out; two steps forward, three steps back. Had it been that long since Solas had trusted someone? She took another bite of the porridge and immediately washed it down with tea again. She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to eating like this.

The silence stretched between them, but not uncomfortably, and Solas wasn't running from her, she noticed. That was an improvement. He did seem to be intent on not looking in her direction. That was not an improvement. "Have you… since you've been here… have you spent any time in the Be- I mean, the Fade?"

"Of course," he replied, his tone taking on a bit of irritation as if he didn't want to share small talk with her. "I've slept."

"I meant-"

"I know what you meant, Herald."

"Please don't-"

"Aravas, then. I know what you meant." The way he said her name… sometimes as breathless as a prayer and others a barely concealed strangled sob. What was it about her that he had such a difficult time dealing with?

"So, have you learned anything about Haven?" she asked. She could nearly see the tension unfurl in him as if he'd decided this was a safe topic for them to discuss. His arms dropped to his sides, he stopped clenching his jaw, and he leaned back against the side of the cabin casually. "I'm not familiar with the history; someone said something about the Hero of Ferelden, but I'm not sure…"

"This was the site of a dragon-worshipping cult before the Fifth Blight."

Aravas nearly choked on her porridge. "A… a what?"

"The entire village was inhabited by a cult who believed Andraste's spirit had been bound to a dragon which roosted in the mountains," Solas explained.

"And had it? I mean, did the Fade show you if that was true or not?" Aravas asked, her eyes wide. She was nearly full already, the porridge sitting hot and heavy in her stomach. She'd only eaten half the bowl.

"As I mentioned before, the truth is subjective, and the Fade shows all possible truths. Either way, if Andraste was bound to that dragon, I'd say you truly owe a debt of gratitude to the Hero of Fereldan. Without her, Andraste's spirit would not have been present in the Fade to deliver you from it," Solas smirked.

Aravas snorted. "Well, I'll write her a letter of thanks. Perhaps Leliana can have it delivered to the King and Hero. I hear they used to be friends."

"Is one ever really friends with Sister Nightingale?" Solas asked, the smirk becoming something a bit closer to a smile. Her sarcasm toward his comment seemed to unwind some more of the tension between them, and he'd turned to look at her, stormy gray eyes open and appraising.

She couldn't stop her own eyes from sweeping his body, long and lean and firm. She idly wondered if the Inquisition were meant as some sort of test because they were all so _pretty_. Solas caught the look in her eyes or at least must have sensed her thought in some way because his jaw clenched again and his arms crossed over his chest, and he looked away from her. For a brief moment, Aravas thought of Ghimyean and how he refused to look at her for nearly 13 years.

She was overcome with an urge to throw something at the apostate before her, but instead decided to do something she hadn't done with Ghimyean: address it. "You know," she began, "you remind me of Ghimyean."

He turned to stare at her then, eyes narrowing a bit as he spat out a single word, "what?" It was crisp and terse, the _t_ at the end over-pronounced and sharp, and she knew without a doubt he considered that to be an insult. She found that interesting because there was no way Solas knew Ghimyean Lavellan.

"My best friend back home," she clarified. Solas didn't relax. "He had a problem looking me in the eye, too, because apparently, he was in love with me for 13 years and felt guilty about something that happened when we were children. Now, I know we haven't met before, so it can't be anything like that, and I'm pretty sure they won't throw you in the stockade as an apostate for _daring_ to look at the Herald of Andraste, so… what is it then?"

He cleared his throat. "I apologize. I've… lived alone for many years. It seems it has done nothing to help my already atrocious manners." Something about that didn't quite sit well with Aravas, but whether it was true or not, the other mage was no longer pointedly _not_ looking at her, and for that she was grateful.

"It's fine," she said brushing it off. Maybe she was overreacting a bit because of Ghimyean. "Just try to remember you can look at me. I won't bite… unless you ask me to." Aravas flushed because she hadn't meant to say that, not really, but for half a second she swore Solas' eyes had become dark with desire. As soon as she noticed it, it was gone, locked down and away; he was still looking at her, but he was tense, pulled as taut as one of her father's bowstrings and just as ready to snap.

She cleared her throat, tempted to apologize, and that was when she noticed it: movement out of the corner of her eye at the back of the cabin. Her barrier sprung up around them almost instinctively, and Solas stood, suddenly at attention. The flash of movement caught her eye again, low to the ground and small, but the flash of cream-colored skin let her know it wasn't a nug or fennec.

"You, da'lin, come here," she called, letting the barrier dissipate. Solas relaxed back against the cabin again as the small human boy stuck his head out from behind the cabin. He was _skinny_ not just small, brown eyes dull, lips chapped and bleeding.

He let out a squeal at being discovered, but said softly, "yes, ser," and stepped out from behind the cabin with quick feet to join them. "Sorry, ser."

She took him in with one sweep of her eyes; the near rags, his pale skin, the dark circles under his eyes. "What's your name?" Aravas asked.

"Finn, ser. What was that you called me?"

"Da'lin? It's Elvish for 'child'. If you don't tell them I spoke Elvish, I won't tell them you were spying on the Herald of Andraste," she said with a wink.

His eyes went wide, and he sputtered out a protest, "I weren't! I only wanted to see if what they was saying was true what about your hand glowing green."

She smiled at him then, to let him know he wasn't in trouble, but before she could say anything else, his stomach audibly growled, and her expression became serious. "Finn… where are your parents?"

"Dead." The answer was succinct and matter-of-fact and entirely void of emotions. Aravas wondered how long this tiny human boy had been giving that answer, as her instinct began to tug at the back of her mind, her irritation instantly rising.

She shoved it down so as to not frighten him and asked the most important question. "Who is supposed to be taking care of you?"

"The Chantry," he answered.

"Does the Chantry in Haven have a lot of orphans to care for?" she asked. He shook his tawny head; blond hair which was just starting to show highlights of red from age was thin, and Aravas wondered if that was natural or from malnourishment.

"There was three, but the other two went up to see the mages and never came back," Finn replied shifting on his feet. He seemed to know this meant they died, but he wouldn't say it. Unlike his parents' death, the death of his friends was still too new to be real.

She cleared her throat, her eyes moving to Solas as he watched her and then moving back to the boy. "Have you eaten today?" He shook his head negatively. "What about yesterday?" Another negative answer. Aravas saw red, then.

"Did you say anything to Chancellor Roderick?" she asked, her voice steadier than it should be under the circumstances.

"I did when I found him. Said he was too busy to deal with it and to come back later, but I couldn't find him later," Finn answered in a small voice.

Rage filled her then, and she felt her mana leap at the urge to produce flames, but she instead took her half-finished bowl of porridge and her tea and warmed them with her hands. "Finn, I have a few very important things for you to do for me, and if you do it there will be some coin in it for you, so you can buy a meal, okay?"

The boy's eyes had gone wide and he nodded eagerly. "Well, the first thing is, I'm full, so I need you to finish this porridge and tea so I don't waste it. You'll need to return the dishes to the tavern for me, can you do that?"

Finn nodded again, eyes glued to the promised meal. "You need to eat slow, so you don't make yourself sick. Once you do that, I need you to find Commander Rutherford- do you know him?" The boy shook his head no. "He's a tall sh- human man, with blond hair. He wears plate mail and a big black and red furred collar. He yells at the soldiers a lot.

"Oh. Him! Yeah, I know him," Finn confirmed.

"Okay, Finn, you're going to find him and tell him Aravas said to make you a squire for the Inquisition. It'll be work and it might be hard, but you'll earn three square meals a day and somewhere to sleep and they won't forget about you. Does that sound good?" The boy nodded yes, practically vibrating with excitement. "And after you're done with that and whatever work Cullen gives you, you're going to buy yourself lunch with these coins, okay?"

"Yes, ser," the boy replied. He was already eying the half-bowl of porridge eagerly.

"Tell me again what all of that was," Aravas prompted.

"I'm to finish your meal and take the dishes back to the tavern, then find the Commander and tell him Aravas said to make me a squire and then I'm to eat lunch when I'm done with whatever Cullen tells me to do."

She nodded once and handed over a few bronze coins. Finn tucked them into his shoe so he wouldn't lose them. "Now, I have a meeting with the Commander this afternoon, so I'm going to ask him if you spoke with him. Don't let me find out you didn't."

"Yes, ser," he replied. Aravas handed him the porridge and tea and the boy scampered off without hesitation, sitting next to the door of the tavern to eat.

"That was… kind," Solas said softly.

"Was it?" Aravas asked, frowning. She used some of her excess energy to reheat the mulled cider which had gone cold, drinking deeply. It was spiced more than sweetened and Aravas found it to be refreshing after the too sweet porridge. "I've sent him to a life of service when that may not have been what he wanted."

"If not for the war, he'd have likely been in Templar training already," Solas argued. "At least this way, you've made sure he will eat and be taken care of while learning a trade. Once this is over, he will have connections and references. If he chooses to serve the Chantry, he may. Otherwise, he can pursue non-secular service… or something completely different. For now, you have given him a purpose. Everyone needs a purpose."

"Right… speaking of… I have a few things I need to accomplish before my meeting this afternoon. Will you be free later? I believe we should meet with Varric and Cassandra to talk strategy."

"Yes, of course," Solas said. "I'm only researching the Breach and the Veil, for now. I can research at any time."

 

* * *

 

 

Her morning had gone quickly. As she suspected, Adan didn't just need the notes; they were running low on elfroot. She took her time heading to the cabin, gathering herbs, and hunting nugs - the leather could be useful for Harritt. Taking some time to explore the area, she found a logging stand and several iron deposits of which she informed the requisitions' officer. By the time she'd made it back to Haven proper, Cassandra was nowhere to be seen and a filling, but lackluster lunch of turnip stew and rolls were being served. How a group of people could go from eating a bowl of sugar to flavorless broth with flavorless mush Aravas couldn't understand, but she wasn't going to complain. It was food, and it was cheap. She found Varric in the tavern playing a round of some card game and told him they would meet after she was done with the leaders of the Inquisition.

She was still eating as she wandered into the map room (which she was secretly calling the war room) that the Inquisition had set up in the back of the Chantry. Cassandra, Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana were all talking excitedly as she let herself into the room, shutting the heavy door behind her. The instant she stepped in silence reigned. She cleared her throat, taking a sip of her soup, pointedly ignoring them while they all stared at her.

"What?" she finally asked. "What did I do now?"

"That boy you sent to me-" Cullen began.

"Finn?" she interrupted. The four of them looked at one another.

"Yes, him," Cassandra confirmed.

Josephine cleared her throat. "Apparently, Chancellor Roderick found out you had him pledge himself to the Inquisition and is claiming that we have overstepped our bounds by _kidnapping_ orphans under the Chantry's charge." Aravas snorted and rolled her eyes.

"This is a serious charge!" Cassandra blustered.

"Well, it wasn't so serious when the Chantry allowed two of the orphans in their charge die at the Conclave, nor was it so serious when Roderick forgot to feed Finn for _two days_."

"What?" Leliana asked, her eyes wide.

"Ah… I see that part of the story was conveniently left out. Leave it to the Chantry to spin stories about elves stealing human children," she grumbled. Cassandra was about to protest, but Aravas put up her hand, stopping her. "Sorry. I didn't mean that. I understand Roderick is not representative of what the Chantry is _supposed_ to be, but I also want to point out that doesn't stop the Chantry from being what it is."

"When I caught Finn trying to get a look of the Herald of Andraste, he told me the Haven Chantry once had three orphans in their charge. Two of them managed to sneak off to the Conclave and never returned. He didn't eat yesterday - apparently when Finn asked Roderick for a meal Roderick told him he was busy and to remind him later, but Finn couldn't find the man later. I'm assuming by busy he meant he was busy trying to have us declared heretics and me demon-possessed or some such thing. He hadn't eaten this morning, either, so I gave him the rest of my porridge and some coin for lunch. I told him to find Cullen and ask to become a squire. I figured he could at least _earn_ his meals that way, and we wouldn't forget to provide them."

"I will deal with Roderick," Leliana stated, her tone firm in spite of her softly lilting Orlesian accent.

"And I shall send a report of our side to Chantry officials as well as any nobles who find umbrage on their behalf," Josephine stated.

She shrugged, as if whatever cleanup they decided was required was inconsequential because to her it was done. The matter was resolved the instant she had realized a man was going to let a _child_ starve because he was too _busy_ to give him some money or cook for him. Cassandra sighed a bit, and Aravas couldn't help but shoot her an incredulous look. Still, there would be time to deal with that later.

"We received a message from your Clan some time ago," Leliana began. "We have not yet responded, because when it was received you had not yet awoken. We have been unable to come to a decision on how to approach the letter and would like your insight."

Cullen held a piece of paper out to her, and she took it with a shaking hand. Deshanna's gently sweeping script asked after her in common, asking if she were being held prisoner or what her status was. "I suggested we send soldiers-"

"No," Aravas said firmly. Cullen's lips pressed together thinly, his face flushing. "I'm sorry, Commander, but a human army approaching my clan would not be received well. When I left, the Circle at Ostwick had just disbanded, Templars and rebelling mages were flooding through the area. There were skirmishes daily and more than a few people tried to take out their tempers on the 'knife-ears'. Even a small contingent of soldiers would be met with open hostility, no matter how progressive my clan is; my father has a shoot first, ask questions later mentality."

"Your father?" Cullen asked.

"He's the Huntmaster. Believe me when I say he would not hesitate to attempt to kill every Inquisition soldier to get his little girl back if he believes I'm in danger," she said her tone dark and dangerous, "even if it were his last act in this world."

Leliana smirked, perhaps in appreciation of the man Aravas was describing Banassan to be. "I suggest we send goods, as a gesture of good faith. There must be something your clan needs."

"That smacks of buying them off," Aravas protested. "But we are always in need of supplies. "

"You could simply send them a letter, in your own hand," Josephine suggested.

"Both," Aravas replied without hesitation. "Leliana, the scouts you send with the goods - grain if you've got it or salt meat - they will need to be elves or primarily so. They're more likely to be trusted. I'll teach them my bird calls, to add another layer of authenticity to the exchange, but I do need them to take letters for me. Three to be exact. One to my Keeper, one to my father, and one to Ghimyean. If they don't receive all three, they'll suspect something is wrong. You're welcome to read the contents."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Leliana said after a long pause. Aravas took it for what it was - a gesture of good faith - Leliana was trying to show she trusted her, and Aravas was grateful for that. "Moving on, there are reports of rifts coming from as far as the Storm Coast to the Fallow Mires. We have dispatched more scouting parties to attempt to locate them all. We've also received a request from the Teryn of Highever for us to attend his memorial for Divine Justinia."

Aravas sighed as she noticed Josephine begin to shuffle a rather large stack of papers and settled into a chair, quickly finishing up the now room temperature turnip stew. This meeting was going to take a while.

 

* * *

 

 

Hours passed before Aravas and Cassandra managed to emerge from the Chantry, and Aravas inhaled the fresh air deeply. The warrior by her side began to stalk off. "Cassandra, wait," Aravas called. The quickly retreating woman halted just at the top of the stairs next to the requisition's officer. "Was there a problem with the way I handled the thing with Finn?" she asked bluntly.

The Nevarran blinked at her in confusion, her brows knitted together made the scar in her cheek stand out more; Aravas wondered how she had gotten it but knew now was not the time to ask. "What? Of course not. You likely saved the boy's life," Cassandra replied matter-of-factly.

"But you _sighed_ -"

"Oh? You thought that was for you? No. Only for Josephine. She wants us to be recognized as a legitimate organization - which I understand is necessary to gain the support of the nobility - but if we are to be labeled as heretics for feeding and clothing a child, then I will gladly accept that label. You have… once again… shown yourself to be… not what I assumed you to be."

"Well, in your defense, I didn't make a good first impression: walking out of the Fade after a hole appeared in the sky with a bizarre glowing green mark and immediately going unconscious," Aravas replied with a grin. Cassandra offered a snort of approval. "Solas and Varric are waiting for us at the tavern, so we can talk about fighting strategy and what system of hand signals to use. I wanted to speak with you earlier about a meeting, but I lost track of time."

"In the tavern? Yes… okay," Cassandra says, although she sounds a bit reluctant. "As long as I don't have to sit next to the dwarf."

 

* * *

 

There are two tankards of ale in front of all of them, in various stages of being emptied. Aravas' second one is nearly full, knowing as she does that she has to meet the Commander in a few minutes. Bowls of mutton stew had just been served, and dinner would be well and officially over quicker than she was ready for it.

The meeting between her party was going better than she assumed it would. They had settled on Cassandra sitting with her back to the wall, where her instincts had allowed her to relax, Varric across from her, while she and Solas acted as a buffer between them. They'd realized fairly quickly there were very few differences in the hand signals they all knew and settled on one or the other signal for the few differences. The debate over who took point had devolved nearly into fisticuffs between Cassandra and Varric, but they finally settled on Cassandra taking point on horseback and Varric taking point on foot due to his expertise in traps.

And somewhere around the bottom of the first tankard, something miraculous happened; they all relaxed and their laughter began to fill the air.

"No… no, I'm serious! So, there we are, Rivaini has literally shoved handfuls of gold and jewels between her tits - and let me tell you, I have no idea what sort of enchantment she has on her bodice because nothing else should fit _in_ there-" Cassandra made a disgusted noise. "Sorry, Seeker, but you'd understand if you saw her. Anyway, we're surrounded by these Crows… and come to find out the bastards only want _one_ specific jewel. Blondie and Chuckles - Hawke Chuckles, I mean - share this fucking look, and I swear to Andraste that Blondie starts telling the Crows he's going to get the jewel. Rivaini gives him this look like she's going to slice his hand off, and he couldn't have cared less, because the bastard shoves his hand straight between her boobs and starts _digging_ around in there."

Solas chuckled (and now Aravas knows why Varric gave him the same nickname as Hawke, which strikes her as a pretty high compliment, actually) and Cassandra nearly spits out her mouthful of ale.

"There is no _way_ ," Cassandra said.

"I am not shitting you," Varric retorted. "So, the Crows are just standing there, eyes wide, and Rivaini suddenly goes from this murderous look to deciding to play along and she lets out this looooong, overdramatic, breathless moan that made every man - and probably a few women - within ten miles absolutely uncomfortable. But Chuckles, he just suddenly points at the sky and shouts, 'look a dragon!', and I dunno if the Crows have suddenly gone stupid from seeing Blondie's hand in Rivaini's bodice or what, but they actually _turn and look_ where Chuckles was pointing."

"What happened next?" Aravas couldn't stop herself from asking.

"Well, I did the only logical thing. I dropped a smoke bomb, and we got the hell out of Darktown."

"You _ran_?" Solas asked.

"Hell yeah, we ran. But apparently in all the fuss, Blondie had actually managed to get his hand on that jewel, and he dropped it on the ground as we left, which is probably the only reason why I don't have a Crow assassin after me to this day."

"I suddenly understand why you said Hawke and I together would probably be trouble with a capital 'T'," Aravas laughed. She took another sip of her ale and finished up her stew, before pushing herself away from the table. "Someone finish that tankard for me," she said sliding it to the center of the table.

Solas' eyes followed her as she stood. "Calling it a night, already? I could walk you back to your cabin…"

"No, unfortunately. I have another meeting. A Herald's job is never done," she replied with a grin. His offer did make a heat rise to her cheeks, and she couldn't help but wonder if he had some sort of ulterior motive. "I'll let you all know when the scout's report is received so we can start planning more details."

The door hadn't fully closed behind her before she heard Cassandra saying "you'll walk her to her cabin. What was that about?" She could almost picture Cassandra eying the apostate closely. Did she suspect he would try to kill Aravas suddenly? She couldn't help but snort at the thought.

The walk to the front gate of Haven was quick, but when she got there, Cullen was already waiting on her, standing at attention with an almost dazed expression on his face. She couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking about. She cleared her throat and he jumped a bit. "Ahh… He- I mean, Aravas. I didn't see you there."

"That was clear," Aravas joked, and Cullen seemed to blush a bit.

"Old habit, from too many hours of guard duty," he explained. "You learn to block out the guard to your right and left and retreat just enough into a mental space where you can be entertained, but not miss anything happening in front of you. I usually played imaginary chess games."

"Chess? Are you any good?" she asked, raising an appraising eyebrow at the Commander. She assumed he might be, given his military background, but being a good soldier didn't necessarily equate to being a good strategist.

He shrugged modestly and motioned for her to follow him down the path to the left which wound by Harritt's forge. "I'm passable. I've spent most of my adult life playing against myself in my head, so I haven't had much chance to improve."

She was having to walk a bit faster than normal to match his wide strides, and Aravas couldn't help but feel like a small child. It didn't help that he had a commanding presence of authority about him, even though she knew instinctively he was really a squishy ball of embarrassment. There was also something a bit more there, which she couldn't quite place, but thought she might enjoy figuring out. "We should play sometime. You know, when both of us aren't too busy running a heretical, semi-political organization and attempting to save the world."

Cullen chuckled a bit and gave her a lopsided grin as the came to stop by a gray mare. He'd had the foresight to bring the horse far enough away from the main camp that no one would see them, and she was grateful for it. "I would like that," he answered. There was a long pause, and Cullen cleared his throat to break the silence. "So… Aravas, this is your mount, Esmerelda."

"Esmerelda?"

"The stable hands have assured me she's a gentle mare and patient. She probably should have been retired, but we kept her on for training… just in case."

Aravas was suddenly nervous, though she didn't know why. Normally, she approached learning something new with excitement and an air of confidence; now, standing next to a beast who towered over her was intimidating. Cullen held out an apple to her and she took it. "What-"

"You should feed her," he suggested. "Say hello."

As if on cue, the mare turned her head back to look at the apple. Aravas sighed and took a couple of steps forward, holding the apple out. "Um… hello," she said softly. Esmerelda gently took the apple between her big teeth and dropped it on the ground in front of her. A moment later, she picked it up, biting it in half cleanly through the core. Aravas tried to ignore how her hand was shaking as she stretched it out to pet the mare as she chewed. Her ears flickered and Aravas drew her hand back quickly.

Behind her, Cullen laughed. He took a step closer to Aravas and reached around her to pet the mare softly; Aravas was suddenly aware that he was relatively close to her and her heart skipped a beat. It had been far too long since she'd gotten laid if even the mere proximity of a man could make her heart skip a beat. "Are you telling me the woman who stepped out of the Fade one day and three days later ran blazing into battle against demons is afraid of a horse?"

Aravas flushed darkly. "I'm not _afraid_ , just… Mythal's mercy… she's _big_."

"Actually, she's one of the smaller mounts we have," Cullen stated. Aravas shot him an unamused look over her shoulder, and as if to prove her point, reached out to run a hand over the mare's neck. He chuckled at her look. "Tonight, we're going to focus on mounting and riding posture. We may not get much farther, because believe it or not, many people struggle with this - saddle position in particular."

"It can't be that hard, can it?" Aravas asked, her face wrinkling a bit.

Cullen smirked a bit. "Well, let's see," he said. He took the reins and handed them to her, before taking her hand and placing it on the saddle's horn. "Left foot in the stirrup and push with your legs," he said stepping back. Aravas did as she was told, and thankfully, her strong legs made it easy for her to swing her leg up and over to the other side of the horse. She landed gently on the back of the animal, who's ears twitched again. "Perfect," Cullen praised.

"Really?" Aravas asked, her face lighting up at the praise.

"Yes, the perfect mount. Your posture is horrific, though." She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed a bit. "To be fair, I need to adjust your stirrups. I should have thought of that before I got you up there." She shifted slightly as he began the adjustments, bringing the stirrups up a few inches. His hands brushed against her calf and ankles occasionally. "Okay, you need to move forward in the saddle," he told her after he finished adjusting the second stirrup. "More. More," he sighed a bit. "Your legs should be straight, you should be able to stand if the horse weren't there." She slid forward a little more, but it still wasn't enough because he sighed heavily. "Aravas, stand up in the stirrups."

"I'll fall!" she protested, and she gripped the saddle's pommel tighter, her knuckles turning white.

Cullen moved closer, his hand hovering close to, but not touching the small of her back. "You won't fall. I'm here. Now… stand."

With a heavy sigh, Aravas forced herself to stand, legs shaking as she did so. She pitched backward, then forward, throwing her arms out to catch herself. Cullen grasped her hand as the mare huffed in impatience, his other hand moving to steady her on the small of her back. It took a moment, but she found her center and he let go of her back, then her hand as she wobbled shakily. She had been too unsteady to notice his touch. "Good, now take the reins," he said, lifting them to her, "and the pommel." Aravas swallowed hard and reached for the saddle. "Now sit, precisely where you are. Do not fall forward or backward. Straight down."

The elf was slow to move, worried she would lean too far forward or backward, but the slow movement was causing her leg muscles to tremble with strain. When she finally found herself sitting, she let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Oh… wow… I was too far back," she said, her eyes wide.

Cullen nodded. "Here you're above the horse's center of gravity. It eases their load, which means you can travel faster or further, and you're more difficult to unseat. Give me the reins, we'll take her for a slow walk and call it a day."

"Already?" Aravas asked. "But I only have a few days."

"I said I could make you _passable_ ," Cullen argued with a laugh. "You're on a horse and it hasn't thrown you. I'm not sure what more you could want from a first lesson." He took the reins from her and stepped in front of the mare; with a click of his tongue, she started a leisurely stroll headed away from Haven and toward the bridge which led to the former Temple of the Sacred Ashes.

Aravas tried to relax and get used to the feeling, tried to memorize the way it felt and her position in the saddle. If she could get enough of a feel for it, she could replicate it in the Beyond… get more practice. Cullen cleared his throat. "So… is Ghimyean your husband?" he asked.

She nearly choked. "WHAT?!" The horse huffed her displeasure at the sound, and Aravas absently reached down to pat her neck in apology. " _Whatever_ gave you that idea?"

Although it was starting to get dark, Aravas could just barely make out the flush which had crept up Cullen's face to the tips of his ears. "You said you needed to write three letters and he was important enough to include so I… well… is he your betrothed then?"

"Certainly not. He's my childhood best friend… and he's been married for nearly a year, Commander," Aravas clarified.

"Cullen," he corrected.

"Cullen, then," she replied. "What about you? Is there a Mrs. Rutherford or prospective Mrs. Rutherford awaiting your letters?"

"Ah… no. My life hasn't left much time for that sort of thing," he replied clearing his throat. He started turning in a wide circle and the mare followed him without any communication or Aravas having to do anything. She was relatively certain he'd gotten the horse they used for basic training or perhaps would be used to lead nobles around. Aravas was silently grateful for that.

"Oh? No passionate trysts in the barracks with a fellow soldier?"

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I didn't exactly… there was nothing _serious_ ," he clarified. The silence fell thick between them as Aravas got the sense that Cullen was absolutely mortified and regretting his choice of topic. She desperately tried to find something that wouldn't make him uncomfortable as the sun set. The sky took on an almost sickening green hue from the Breach the darker it got.

"You're Fereldan, right?" she asked suddenly.

"Yes."

"Good… can you explain your country's obsession with turnips?" she asked with a laugh. Cullen laughed with her, and Aravas decided that was a sound she could definitely get used to hearing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aravas writes her letters for home, Cassandra questions her faith, and Solas finds Aravas alone in the woods outside Haven
> 
> * * *
> 
> _"You don't believe?" she questioned, and Aravas laughed this time. The Seeker was trying to get a solid answer out of her, and she wasn't willing to give one. Partially because she had never thought matters of divinity were so easy for a yes and no answer._
> 
> _"Cassandra, I'm a Dalish elf. If Andraste chose me, if the Maker chose me, it would cause a crisis of faith for everyone. It's much safer for all of us if I allow everyone to decide on their own who and what I am to them. If you want to believe I was chosen by Andraste, then… please do. If you don't, I'm okay with that. I can't answer questions about your faith for you. I can only tell you this: you did the right thing starting the Inquisition. The Chantry is still reeling; without you and Leliana, no actions would have been taken and the Breach would still be ripping apart the sky," Aravas added. She shifted on her feet, suddenly aware they were standing outside of the tavern having very serious conversations that should, perhaps, not be overheard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated to reflect the obvious pairings that are being explored. Also, the first side-fic for this series is being posted soon (in a couple of hours or tomorrow at the latest). If you haven't done it, I suggest you subscribe to the series as well (click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1243694) and then click subscribe). It should alert you to new works being added to the series.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> * * *
> 
> As always:  
> Bits of Elvish from either [FenxShiral's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenxShiral/pseuds/FenxShiral) [Project Elvhen: Expanding the Elvhen Language](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553883?view_full_work=true) or [Project Elvhen: An Elvhen Lexicon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848?view_full_work=true)  
> Lesser known bits of elvish are translated in the endnotes.

_Keeper Istimaethoriel,_

_I have only now received the letter you sent to the Chantry on my behalf. It should go without saying I am no longer being held prisoner, and I am doing as well as can be expected. I'm not sure how much of the news of the Conclave and the events that have taken place since has reached the Free Marches, so I'll do my best to fill you in._

_There was some sort of an accident or attack at the Conclave. Everyone in attendance - mages, Templars, Chantry officials, and mercenaries - died, save for me. I don't remember all that happened, but we know I interrupted some sort of ritual in an attempt to save the Divine's life; the cataclysmic explosion caused the Beyond to "record" the final minutes of the events. That explosion has left a large hole in the Veil we're calling the Breach, which may very well consume all the world. All over Thedas, smaller rifts are blooming; the Veil seems to be slowly unraveling._

_During the explosion, I was somehow transported physically into the Beyond, and I emerged later, delivered by a woman, who many believe to be Andraste. I've been left with a mark on my hand, an anchor of sorts, which allows me to seal those smaller rifts. I've managed to stabilize the Breach, so it is no longer growing, and we hope, soon, to attempt to close it._

_I know it is my duty as First to help lead our Clan, but I fear my duty to protect our Clan is overriding the concerns of its day-to-day survival. If I do not stay, if I do not see this through, our Clan may no longer have a world in which to reside. I shall return as soon as is possible._

_The Inquisition has sent some goods; please accept them and treat their scouts with kindness. If anything is needed at all, please let me know. I will do my best to provide for the Clan as I can._

_Your faithful and dutiful Sael,_

_Aravas Lavellan_

 

* * *

 

_Baba,_

_I could spend my time telling you the same things I've already told Deshanna, but that seems like a waste since I know she'll likely just show you her letter anyway. I want to assure you I am fine. Well and truly fine, not just writing that because the Inquisition will be reading my letters. No need to send any hunters to rescue me. I have a staff and armor and, if I had to, I could kill a good chunk of them and get away._

_But I don't have to._

_The people here are_ _… interesting. There are quite a few elves - city elves - among their forces, and there is an apostate from the north. He's… a bit cold, but very smart. I think you'd like him and so would Deshanna, even though he doesn't seem to like the Dalish in general. To be fair, he doesn't seem to like people, in general._

_Varric Tethras (yes, that Varric Tethras of Kirkwall fame) is here. Tale of the Champion doesn't do him justice in his portrayal of himself. He's clever and kind, and he can weave tales better than anyone I've ever met. His crossbow is amazing, and I swear I'm going to get him to let me fire it before I'm done here._

_I'm also being helped by a Seeker of Truth named Cassandra. She takes herself far too seriously and has lofty expectations. She's worse than Ghimyean that way. But beneath it all, she is kind, and I think she's actually starting to like me._

_I'm learning to ride horses, and once we receive some information for our scouts, I'm heading into the Hinterlands to try to seal some rifts. The hope is I'll be able to gather enough power to seal the Breach, and once that's complete_ _… I should be able to come home._

_I love you, and I miss you. Try not to worry about me too much._

_Your loving daughter,_

_Aravas Lavellan_

 

* * *

 

**ATTEMPT 1**

~~_Ghimyean,_ ~~

~~_Happy Anniversary! Have you and Eirlana had sex yet?_ ~~

**ATTEMPT 2**

~~_Ghimyean,_ ~~

~~_I hope you have a happy anniversary. Is Eirlana expecting?_ ~~

**ATTEMPT 3**

_Ghimyean,_

_I hope my letter finds you and Eirlana in good spirits, and your happiness has carried through to your first anniversary. I'm sure you've heard news of what's happening here in Ferelden, and if not, then I'm sure Keeper Istimaethoriel will be sharing my reports of it soon. Being here, away from the Clan is trying, but I've done my best to keep it hidden, both from the people here and from Deshanna and Baba._

_It's not that I mind being here; I don't. The people are kind and funny and intelligent, but it isn't the same. They eat grains every morning for breakfast and drench them in sugar or honey, and they have stew every day for lunch and sometimes for dinner. Everyone is so busy with their own duties, they never stop to ask if anyone else needs help. They don't know how to find joy in the little things._

_Yes, the world could end tomorrow. We could be attacked by demons, or the sky may rip the rest of the way open (or maybe both at once), but that's really no different than growing up in the Clan where we could be attacked by shemlen or wild beasts at any moment. And we still find the time to smile and wave and tell stories and laugh, because it's too damn hard to be serious all the time. There's very little laughing at Haven._

_I hope Eirlana is reminding you to laugh._

_I miss our tents and our aravels. I miss the smell of roasting rabbit and squirrel. I miss the smell of the rain. It's dry here and cold, so cold I spend most of my time in boots._

_I miss you, even though you wouldn't look me in the eye and made me so angry it took everything I had not to punch you on nearly a daily basis. I want to come home as soon as I can._

_Please write to me soon. Tell me everything you can about home and your life and your family, no matter how boring you think it is._

_Your friend,_

_Aravas_

 

* * *

 

"Good morning, Herald."

The Nevarran accent caused Aravas to nearly jump out of her skin, her barrier flashing into place as quickly as it disappeared once she realized the source of the voice was none other than Cassandra. She had not been expecting anyone to be waiting on her outside of her cabin. She clutched the wax-sealed letters tightly in her hand, suddenly self-conscious about what they contained. "Cassandra, I hope you didn't wait long. You could have knocked."

"I didn't wait long, no," the Seeker confirmed. She shifted on her feet and seemed unwilling to meet Aravas' eyes. That made her nervous; Cassandra Pentaghast was nothing if not blunt and forthcoming.

"Would you like to get breakfast together?" Aravas asked.

Cassandra nodded and pushed herself away from the tree she was leaning against. It was still dark, yet, as Aravas had gotten back into her natural rhythm, rising before the sun and not resting until well into the night; a somber and quiet stillness hung over the hamlet of Haven as the two women wound their way through the town. Cassandra paused at the door of the tavern. "Herald… Aravas, I mean. It has… occurred to me that I never truly apologized for misjudging you. I've made references and you've made jokes, but that's not the same as a true apology. So, I'm sorry for assuming the worst of you."

"Formal apology accepted though unnecessary. Can I ask what brought this on?" Aravas asked.

"You are… simply not what I expected. We made the decision to accept the Herald of Andraste title for you formally, based solely on the fact the mark has allowed you to close the rifts and to stabilize the Breach; it would be a lie if I didn't admit to wondering if we were _wrong_ to do that. Surely, if Andraste - if the Maker - were to send someone to do their work, they could have chosen among the faithful, could they not? I wondered if perhaps we were attaching significance to… to someone who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but now…"

"Now?" Aravas prompted as Cassandra let her statement die off.

"It has been five days since you sealed the Breach and since we have declared the Inquisition. Every day, you simply wake up and do things which need doing. You saved a boy from sure starvation; you have hunted for leather for armor, gathered herbs for potions, located iron for weapons. Josephine stated you helped to quiet Marquis DuRellion, no small feat for someone of your background. These things… all of them… are done with the single simple purpose of _helping_ , and I can't help but wonder if… if perhaps… the Maker is aiding you."

"So… I can't be a good person on my own merits? I must have the help of the Maker-"

"No! Aravas, you misunderstand me. I only meant-"

Aravas laughed, reaching out to place a hand on Cassandra's shoulder. "I'm teasing. I understand what you're saying."

"Do you?" Cassandra asked. "Because… because how many times did I - or any other number of the faithful - walk by the boy and just not _see_ him? How long have I simply been keeping my head down only concerned with my own duties? How long has it been since I asked someone if they needed help?"

"You've been a bit preoccupied, whereas, right now… I have no purpose here. Not really. What do I have to do other than hold my hand at some rips in the sky and hope it works? Until that moment, I can make myself useful, the same ways I did in my Clan: by anticipating needs, helping fill gaps, supplying old knowledge and discovering new knowledge. If that means the Maker has sent me to you all because I'm what you needed, then so be it," Aravas replied.

"So, you believe then?" Cassandra asked. Aravas couldn't help but sigh. She had been trying to avoid this conversation with this person in particular. Cassandra was fond of black and white, whereas Aravas felt at home in the murky waters of _gray_.

"I believe things happen for a reason. Perhaps that reason is driven by something intelligent, perhaps not. I know that Andraste was a real person who helped save my people, and perhaps she was driven by some sort of Divine providence to do so. What I _can_ say for certain, Cassandra is that I don't feel any different now than I did before I entered the Fade. I hear no voices telling me what to say or do, and it _seems_ as if I am making the choices myself, but maybe I'm not. Maybe the Maker set this plan into action so long ago, I cannot see his hand in it," she answered. Cassandra's brow was furrowed deeply, and Aravas could tell that the Seeker wasn't happy with that answer. She couldn't stop herself from wanting to add 'or maybe there is no Maker at all,' but she did stop herself from saying it.

"You don't believe?" she questioned, and Aravas laughed this time. The Seeker was trying to get a solid answer out of her, and she wasn't willing to give one. Partially because she had never thought matters of divinity were so easy for a yes and no answer.

"Cassandra, I'm a Dalish elf. If Andraste chose me, if the _Maker_ chose me, it would cause a crisis of faith for everyone. It's much safer for all of us if I allow everyone to decide on their own who and what I am to them. If you want to believe I was chosen by Andraste, then… please do. If you don't, I'm okay with that. I can't answer questions about your faith for you. I can only tell you this: you did the right thing starting the Inquisition. The Chantry is still reeling; without you and Leliana, no actions would have been taken and the Breach would still be ripping apart the sky," Aravas added. She shifted on her feet, suddenly aware they were standing outside of the tavern having very _serious_ conversations that should, perhaps, not be overheard.

"You're right, of course. I suppose I'll have to find comfort in my own faith and let the Maker guide me to an answer," the Seeker concluded. She pushed open the door to The Singing Maiden and Aravas followed behind her; this early in the morning, they were the only two people present, other than Flissa. Aravas couldn't help but wonder how little sleep the woman got. Most taverns wouldn't open until afternoon, but Flissa had been helping to supply the Inquisition's soldiers with food, and therefore was burning the candle at both ends. It couldn't last forever, and Aravas made a mental note to speak with Josephine about recruiting a proper cook and utilizing the Chantry's kitchens.

"Seeker, Herald, you two want porridge today?" Flissa asked as if there were other options. Well, Aravas assumed there were other options, like sandwiches and snacks, but they wouldn't be _hot_ , and Mythal's mercy she needed warm food here.

"Yes, please," Cassandra answered for them both. "But… can you skip the fruit and honey in mind and-"

"Add salt beef?" Flissa asked, raising an eyebrow. "I know how you like it by now, though I don't know _how_ you eat it."

Aravas' eyes widened. Protein? And no fruit? And _salt_ to cut through the cloying sweetness of the excess sugar or honey or whatever they poured into the grain? The Seeker was a genius.

"I'd like to try that, please," Aravas added. Flissa raised an eyebrow at her but didn't argue, emerging from the small kitchen a moment later with two bowls of porridge topped with chunks of cured beef. They paid, and Cassandra claimed a table for them, sitting with her back to the wall. The first bite was salty and creamy, and it was such a magnificent relief from tasting nothing but sugar that Aravas practically hummed in appreciation.

"Is that a hum of approval?" Cassandra asked.

"It's… still odd, but much better than buckets of sugar," Aravas replied.

"It's like eating candy for breakfast. I don't know how our soldiers haven't thrown it all up by lunch," she commiserated. "This was the only thing I could think of that has made it somewhat bearable."

"Well, it's genius, and it may have very well saved my taste buds," Aravas replied. The two of them fell into a companionable silence that was not at all uncomfortable, and Cassandra did not seem to scowl at her once. She was glad she could sit in silence with at least one of her companions without the need to endlessly fill the air with words; she had a feeling she'd need that more in the coming days.

 

* * *

 

Her letters, a sack of rice, and two large jars of honey (Aravas had found out that an Antivan merchant had apparently sent excess stock to the Herald of Andraste as a gift and the Inquisition was trying to use it before it began to crystallize) had left the day before with a group of elven scouts who she'd trained in the basic bird calls used by her Clan. She'd only taught them the first call for identification and her response. If the hunters demanded more details, the scouts wouldn't be able to follow it, but it was the most she was comfortable with giving outsiders. The decision still sat in her stomach like a stone.

She wasn't sure what to do with herself until dinner. She'd met with the leaders of the Inquisition early offering very little insight on the day-to-day operations of a military force. She had no clue why they insisted on including her, but they seemed to find some value in it. It would still be another day before the first Scouts arrived in the Hinterlands, and their troops began to spread throughout Ferelden. Another day before she could finally start doing something.

Adan was threatening her with lashings of elfroot if she brought him anymore and he wouldn't take her offer to actually help him brew; hell, he wouldn't even take her offer for her to jar the salve he had already brewed. Harritt had asked her to stop bringing hide (for now). Even Threnn was certain that there were no requisitions she could help fulfill.

And that was how Aravas found herself standing at the edge of the field in which their soldiers drilled, once again seeking out the Commander… Cullen. She knew the gossip was already starting, she'd caught a bit of it here and there, speculation about where they disappeared to for hours after dinner every night. She didn't think it would help if they knew the truth, and so she let the speculation continue. Cullen caught her eye and a small smile appeared on his face; he crossed to her.

"Cullen," she said by way of greeting. "This is… likely going to sound strange coming from me, but… could you… maybe… get your hands on an extra bow? And some practice arrows? Nothing fancy."

"I… I'm sure I can. Have you found another conscript?" he teased.

She smiled up at him and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Not exactly."

"Not going to share what they're needed for then?"

"Well, a woman has to have some mysteries," she teased. Cullen's grin broadened and his hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword. Aravas had come to realize that for Cullen, it was a sign of relaxation, where on anyone else it would be a sign, they were ready to draw.

"Short or longbow?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Either. Whatever is available."

"I'll see what I can do, Herald," he said with a bow he headed back to his soldiers leaving Aravas' eyes to sweep over his broad form. Mythal's mercy, it wasn't fair for one shem to look that good.

 

* * *

 

He found her in a clearing near a cabin, a few paces from the tree she was using as a target, back straight, strong arms steady as she pulled back on the string of the short bow and let fly. He had tried to ignore her presence; had tried to tell himself to keep his distance. He had always meant to return, always meant to come back to her, but now? Now everything was messed up in ways that were beyond measure, and Solas wasn't sure they could be fixed. The lie had already gone on too long.

At first, he'd told himself to keep his distance, to stay detached, to speak only when spoken to, but it was difficult to remain distant when all he could think of was her kiss, her touch, the feeling of their magic blending and pulling at the Veil, her heated breath against his skin, the sound of her voice as she moaned. _'Good boy.'_ It was difficult, but not impossible. However, his plan had failed miserably the moment she'd accused him of being like Ghimyean; that single statement had simply caused his plan to come crashing to a halt because the last thing he wanted was to be associated with _him_.

And so, slowly, he came to accept that he must move forward, move on, some way. Let her get on with a life where they'd never met, never fallen in love, never…

But that was impossible. As impossible as it was for her to have never picked up a bow again after becoming a mage. He should have accepted that from the moment he saw her in the cell, from the moment she'd walked up to him with the Seeker. Perhaps… he could blame her lack of memory on exposure to the orb? Perhaps he could come clean in a fashion…

She turned to glance at him over her shoulder, giving him a small smirk, before turning her attention back to the arrow she'd knocked into the bow. He hadn't been expecting her to look at him, and he wondered what she'd seen in his expression. "You seem stunned to see a mage with a bow and arrow," she stated.

He exhaled a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. It suddenly occurred to him this was the first time he'd seen her shoot, even with all the time he'd spent with her Clan, and he realized why she'd earned such praise as a hunter. It seemed to be natural to her, her stand relaxed and open. He cleared his throat and shrugged. "Not really," he answered, crossing to her. "May I?"

Her arm lowered, then, her eyebrow raised skeptically. "You… shoot?"

Solas shrugged and handed his staff out for her to take as he reached for the bow. She shrugged out of the quiver and handed that to him first, before taking his staff. "It's been a long time, lethal'lan, but it's a bit like riding a horse. One never really forgets." He has to loosen the strap on the quiver before it sits correctly on his back, but not by much. Their hands brushed as she passed him the bow, and his heart skipped a beat at the feeling of her fingers against his palm; their eyes locked, and her silver eyes seem to pierce his soul. Did she still feel the thrum of attraction? Did she still have feelings even though he took her memories? Did she suspect?

It took every ounce of control he had to shove the thoughts down, to prevent himself from taking her into his arms and kissing her, to prevent himself from giving the memories back and beginning for forgiveness. He was not _worthy_ of forgiveness, of love, of her.

He swallowed hard and focused on the feeling of the bow in his hand instead. It was real and the wood had warmed to her touch; it anchored him, as he forced himself to look away from her. The string offered only minute resistance as he pulled back on it; he fell easily into stance, his forward foot turning open slightly. It took a moment for him to still his nerves, to quiet the pounding of his heart from her being so near, but once he did, he managed to fire off three arrows, nocking them smoothly one after another, before the first had even landed home. He made small adjustments to his stance as he moved left-to-right, each arrow landing in a separate tree. He took a deep breath and paused slightly before firing the fourth arrow, sending it back to the center tree; he concentrated on it, focusing his mana on it to reduce the friction around it, straightening its path to account for the fact the bow was not as accurate as it should be (and his own rustiness in technique), manipulating the air currents slightly to make sure it flew true. It landed with a _thud_ , driving deeper than his previous shots.

"Impressive," Aravas said beside him. He shrugged again, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

"My first three shots lost altitude and landed off aim," he said with an air of perfectionism that probably told her all she needed to know about how hard he was on himself. He fell out of his shooting stance, shaking out the tenseness in muscles. It had been far too long since he'd last held a bow and arrow and his body was protesting the now unfamiliar movement.

"Hmmm… not the last one, though. Did… did you use magic to correct it? Or was I imagining things?" she asked as she stared up at him, silver eyes sparkling with interest. Her lips were parted slightly in that expression of open inquisitiveness that was so familiar to Solas he could summon it with his eyes closed.

"I did. It's an ancient technique, I learned from the Fade." A small lie. Very small. "I have seen ancient wars where all of our people used such techniques - it was one of the reasons humans could not conquer Elvhenan for so long," he explained. "But the technique was lost with the fall of Arlathan."

"Not entirely," she corrected. "You know it, and… the first magic I did was warping the Veil around an arrow. I caught it on fire. Do you remember me mentioning Ghimyean?"

"Yes," he confirmed. How could he ever forget Ghimyean? Solas frowned without meaning to, and he hoped she took it as a sign he was trying to remember and not the fact her constantly bringing up his name was bothersome.

"He made me angry during an archery contest, and I just… forced all of my rage into the arrow and it erupted into flame. I've never attempted to do magic with archery again," she explained. "Can you show me?"

"I… I don't know if-"

"Please?" she asked softly. "I won't show anyone else, and if someone happens to oversee it, I won't tell them you taught me. It will be our secret."

Oh, but he tried to fight her irresistible pull, tried to simply say no, but he had already lost. He took his staff from her wordlessly and leaned it against the nearby cabin, handing her the quiver and bow. He moved behind her as she fell into stance naturally, one hand sliding down her outstretched arm, the other pressing against the forearm which drew back the strong; he was grateful for the quiver between them that put some distance between them. As he leaned forward to whisper directions into her ear on how to focus and direct her mana, he inhaled her familiar scent, felt the familiar hitch of her breath at the closeness of him, and was reminded of how this had gone the first time, when it was a staff and not a bow; how she had turned into his arms and kissed him. This time, as he felt her magic shift, gathering to alter reality, he added his own to it, the familiarity of it against his skin causing memories to flood him. He closed his eyes and reveled in it, and as she let the arrow fly, Solas knew there was nowhere else he'd rather be, no matter what the future held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've used this one before, but just in case:  
>  _Baba_ \- dad, papa, father


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The agents of the Inquisition seek out Warden Blackwall.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _"Is that an order, Trouble?" he asked. Aravas turned, walking backward toward the small pool that was near the campsite. The smirk broadened as she peeled off her gloves and began unbuckling the leather straps of her armor._
> 
> _"Not an order, but I'm only warming the water once, so if you want it hot," Aravas practically sang at him as she let the statement trail off._
> 
> _"Herald's orders it sounds like, Varric," Lace teased, her eyes crinkling up in that adorable way they did when she smiled. She motioned for another scout as she grabbed the reins of two of the horses. "We'll get these horses taken care of while you four clean up; the roast pheasant will hold until then."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Sorry this one was a long time coming. It had been a busy month. I went to a convention and got a new job and otherwise, ran around like a chicken with my head cut off. With the new job, updates once a month will likely become the new timeline, but I will do my best to get them out more frequently as I can.
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support and patience!

Varric Tethras wasn't sure what to make of the Herald of Andraste, other than the fact she was absolutely, positively Trouble. She was kind of like Chuckles that way: hard to read, evasive, and way too damn smart for her own good which was bolstered with an air of confidence and muddled with a wit so quick you could never quite see the intricacies of their machinations. Thing was, even as indecipherable as they were, Varric had the feeling they were both good sorts; in spite of the fact they were technically both apostates who wouldn't hesitate to kill someone who ended up on their bad side.

He couldn't help but wonder what _more_ there was to their story, though. Every once in a while, when Chuckles thought no one was looking, he'd get such a sincere expression of mixed pain and longing on his face that Varric was positive they were _together_ _…_ or had been. If so, though, Trouble didn't seem to be aware of it and that was just… odd. She might be the "love 'em and leave 'em" type, Varric wasn't sure, but she sure as shit wasn't cruel. The woman didn't have a cruel bone in her body. She could be blunt, harsh, angry even, but cruelty was beyond her scope. He tried not to dwell on their weirdness, though, not while the sky was shitting out demons, mages and Templars were causing an arseload of problems for regular folk, and a hole in the sky was trying to kill them all.

They'd been in the Hinterlands for almost a month helping refugees, clearing out assholes preying on the innocent, convincing a horse master to help them, collecting weird ass magical shards, and trying to convince the mages to let them into Redcliffe so they could find that healer for Vale. That last one left Trouble shaken- her and Chuckles and Seeker, actually; all of them insistent that some _weirder than usual magic_ was going on in that town. Varric was not looking forward to whatever in the Void that was all about.

And now? Now they were going to follow up on potentially the only Grey Warden left in Ferelden. Nightingale's letter explaining that the Grey Wardens had gone missing, but there were reports of one near Lake Luthias - Blackwall, Varric thought the name was - had arrived just two days ago. Nightingale asked for them to investigate if the Wardens were involved in the death of the Divine, and so they'd pulled up their makeshift camp outside of Redcliffe and gone riding back south toward their proper camp by the lake at breakneck speed. Everything Trouble did was at breakneck speed, as if she was running a race against time itself. Really, though, the giant hole in the sky made it seem like they didn't have much time left even though it hadn't grown more, so Varric couldn't quite blame her for her desire to get shit done as quickly as possible.

Varric jumped from his saddle, futilely attempting to wipe the road dust from his trousers. "Harding, my lovely lady, please tell me there is food - something hot and delicious," Varric stated as Leliana's chief scout approached them.

"Bathe first, food later," Aravas called over her shoulder.

"But I'm hungry now," Varric protested.

"Yeah, and you've been rank for days," Aravas retorted with a smirk.

"Is that an order, Trouble?" he asked. Aravas turned, walking backward toward the small pool that was near the campsite. The smirk broadened as she peeled off her gloves and began unbuckling the leather straps of her armor.

"Not an order, but I'm only warming the water once, so if you want it hot," Aravas practically sang at him as she let the statement trail off.

"Herald's orders it sounds like, Varric," Lace teased, her eyes crinkling up in that adorable way they did when she smiled. She motioned for another scout as she grabbed the reins of two of the horses. "We'll get these horses taken care of while you four clean up; the roast pheasant will hold until then."

"Harding, you are a treasure and a saint, and don't you ever let anyone tell you differently," Varric replied, taking her hand and lightly brushing his lips over the back of it. "Let's go Chuckles."

Next to him, Solas tensed, though it was difficult to tell with his already ramrod straight posture. Varric had had to learn the man's microexpressions to even begin to get a read on him. "No. I'll wait until the ladies are done."

"Trouble said she wouldn't re-heat the water, though," Varric said raising an eyebrow.

"I'm perfectly capable of heating water to my desired temperature-" Solas began.

"What if I'm freezing it while you try?" Aravas called from the direction of the pool. In the distance, Varric could barely make out the outlines of two piles of armor on the edge. Cassandra was just slipping into the water, handing something to Aravas as she plunged in. It was too dark and too far away for him to really make things out, but if he had to guess, he would assume Seeker had detoured for soap.

Solas was pointedly looking away from the pool, even as he answered. "My will is likely greater than yours, Herald. I believe an attempt by you, _with ice magic_ , nonetheless, would never hold up to my fire magic."

Varric couldn't miss the emphasis Solas placed on ice magic, and he wondered what that was about. Was there something Trouble wasn't good at? If so, he hadn't noticed, but Trouble's lack of response (other than a disgusted grunt she'd picked up from Cassandra) was telling. She'd definitely frozen men in place to make it easier for Varric to shoot them. Although, now that he thought about it, Solas' victims were frozen _solid_ , but Aravas'… well, their feet were frozen to the ground, but they were usually still able to move their upper bodies. _Interesting._

"Solas, do not be absurd. This is about efficiency. The quicker the four of us bathe, the sooner we eat, the sooner we can be in our bedrolls. Once we speak to this Blackwall in the morning, we can be on our way back to Haven, where there are cabins, edible food, and proper beds," Cassandra spoke up.

Varric chuckled to himself as pulled his gloves off and crossed to the pool. "Come on, Seeker. When did you become acclimated to the _finer_ things in life like a roof over your head? Didn't you leave Nevarra behind precisely to reject all the trappings of nobility?"

"It is none of your concern why I left Nevarra, dwarf," she practically growled at him.

He smirked as laid Bianca by the edge of the pool and stripped out of his armor and small clothes; quickly folding them and placing them next to his weapon, he slipped into the pool next to Seeker who had pointedly turned her head from his direction. The water was pleasantly warm and Varric couldn't help the small moan of appreciation that escaped him as muscles he hadn't realized were tight began to relax and the dust began to float off his arms. He felt eyes on him and looked up, suddenly realizing that unlike Cassandra, Aravas hadn't looked away, as she shot him a wink. Varric couldn't stop himself from grinning a bit and lifting a single shoulder in a half-shrug.

The elf was certainly living up to her nickname.

"Come on in, Chuckles, the water's fine," Varric called. Aravas scrubbed at her scalp and face with the soap Cassandra had passed her as the other elf appeared at the edge of the pool carrying four packs (one on each shoulder and one in each hand) and four clean towels balanced on his forearms as if it were nothing. Varric wasn't sure if Chuckles was actually that much stronger than he looked or if he used some sort of magic or if it were some combination of the two, but he'd seen the elf complete feats of strength he shouldn't be able to on multiple occasions.

"I'm sure it is," he replied, placing his own pack next to Varric's pile and placing a towel on it, "but I'm assuming that you all might want clean clothes and towels when you emerge."

"Well, shit," Varric laughed.

"Thank you, Solas. I can't believe I didn't think of clean clothes," Cassandra said with a sigh as Aravas handed her the soap. "I was only concerned with getting clean as quickly as possible."

Chuckles hummed, but otherwise didn't respond, handing out packs and clean towels like it was his job as the Seeker began to scrub the dirt from herself. Chuckles peeled out of his armor like he did everything - methodically.

It was difficult not to notice how Aravas unabashedly stared at the undressing elf and also how he didn't seem to care. Her gaze was so intense, Varric couldn't stop his own eyes from wandering to the man's slim figure, and even though he wasn't interested in other men, he had to admit that Solas was objectively attractive. Long and lean and displaying far more muscle than one would suspect, he cut the kind of figure that would have had Isabela, Aveline, Anders, and Hawke all wagging their tongues. Hell, the broody elf would have joined in if he could have overlooked the fact Solas was a mage. Even the Seeker's eyes were drawn upward as she stole what she thought were discrete glances just before the elf stepped into the water.

Varric let down his hair as Solas disappeared under the surface of the water, reappearing a moment later to his other side. Apparently, the elf could swim, and that made Varric wonder if maybe he was the only one who couldn't. He took a couple of steps back to the shore and placed the leather thong he used to hold his hair with his stuff. He glanced over at Seeker to his right; her eyes were closed as she worked the soap lather through her raven hair and over her sun-kissed skin. The way the moon hit her bronzed skin made her practically glow, and Varric had to admit, when she was relaxed and not scowling at him or threatening his life, Seeker was… pretty. He forced his eyes away from her and moved back toward the center of the pool.

"Are we leaving before the sun comes up tomorrow, Trouble?" he asked and Aravas shrugged.

"Leliana's letter said Blackwall was just North of us here above the waterfall. I thought we would head there on foot, gather his statement and write a report," the Herald responded.

Next to him, the Seeker dunked herself under the water, rinsing off the suds. She reached out a hand, holding the soap out to him. Varric's amber eyes met Cassandra's brown and he couldn't stop himself from smirking a bit at the expression on her face. She must have _sensed_ the smirk because the moons were behind him so his face couldn't be that clear, but Cassandra met it with a sneer, her jaw tensing at the sight of him. He couldn't seem to stop himself from winking at her as he took the soap from her, his fingertips lightly brushing her palm as she let out a strangled disgusted noise.

"And then what?" he asked, turning his attention back to their illustrious leader. "Are we going back to Haven immediately?"

"That depends on his answers and if his answers seem like we should take him into custody," the Seeker spoke up.

"Do we have the authority to detain anyone?" Solas asked, bristling slightly.

"The decree of Divine Justinia gives us the authority to-"

"Take someone's freedom?" Solas asked. "Yes, remind me, Seeker, how well you did at detaining the culprit who killed your Divine- a young woman whom you have nearly _conscripted_ -"

"I volunteered," Aravas spoke up. "I'm the only one who can seal the Breach and until that time I'm _voluntarily_ here. So… everything worked out for the best."

Chuckles seemed to deflate a bit, his posture relaxing as Trouble spoke, and Seeker fell out of the casual fighting stance she'd subconsciously fallen into. Some part of Varric would have paid money to watch Solas and Cassandra fistfight, but not here and now. "Right, I'm the only one not here voluntarily," Varric said with a shrug as he began to lather the soap. "Seeker here loved my _Tale of the Champion_ so much, she couldn't bear to leave me in Kirkwall. Now she keeps me chained to her bedpost for… _entertainment purposes_."

Aravas' snort of amusement was loud enough to drown out the disgusted noise that escaped the Seeker. He wasted no time in working the suds into his hair, running the soap quickly over his body. It was fancy stuff - something Josephine must have specifically ordered for the ladies - and it smelled vaguely of milk and honey Varric noticed as he scrubbed his face. He also noticed that his stubble had grown a bit long and made a mental note to shave in the morning. He dunked under the water briefly to rinse his face and hair, fighting the panic he had at the thought he might drown.

"So, we're just going to talk to this guy and send back a report? And then what? How long do we wait before we go back to Haven?" Varric asked again.

"Why don't we wait to see what happens?" Trouble replied. Varric frowned a bit; he had realized when she didn't know exactly what to do, her answer was always 'wait and see'. The way she could waffle between overthinking every aspect of every situation and running into things without considering _anything_ was absolutely infuriating… and waiting was difficult when the sky was shitting out demons and the world was ending.

"We can't just wait forever," he pointed out, but it was accompanied by a shrug that he hoped softened the blow of his criticism. He lathered up his body quickly and handed the soap out for Chuckles to take, but it slipped from his hand and plunged under the current of the water. "Shit."

"Got it!" Aravas called, before disappearing under the surface. He felt the Herald playfully run a hand up the back of one of his calves as she swam by and he let out a yelp of surprise. A moment later she surfaced, just a few inches from Chuckles, grinning up at him with a playful smile on her face. "Your prize," she said holding the soap up for him.

The aloof demeanor which had become so familiar on Chuckles was suddenly broken, the heat on his face clear as the tension in the air suddenly ramped up a thousand-fold. Next to him, Cassandra cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable. "I think it's time for dinner, don't you, Varric?"

"Oh yeah, definitely," he agreed. The two of them scampered from the pool and toweled off quickly, avoiding looking at one another and the elves still in the water. If Varric had anyone to bet with, he'd have bet they two of them would be on each other the instant he and Seeker were out of eyesight.

He'd have lost that bet.

Cassandra had barely settled next to him at the fire dressed in a clean cotton shirt and leather breeches with half a roasted pheasant on her plate when Solas and Aravas joined them fully dressed. The Nevarran's eyes met his and her eyebrow raised a bit. Varric shrugged as the elves joined them silently.

This dinner was easily the tensest the four of them had shared since Trouble had woken up in the Chantry. Cassandra was the first to bid them goodnight, followed quickly by Aravas. Chuckles was silent as he picked at his pheasant, but Varric wasn't going to let it slide that easily. "So… that was… quick," Varric commented idly.

Solas raised an eyebrow at him and took a drink from his waterskin nonchalantly, but his shoulders tensed slightly. "I'm old enough to have become proficient at bathing," he replied. The next jab of his knife into the pheasant seemed more pronounced than previous ones.

"Uh-huh," Varric nodded. "Did Trouble help with that bathing at all?"

The mage tensed visibly, tore off one last hunk of meat from his pheasant, and then added it to the bucket of scraps which would be disposed of soon by the night watch. "Master Tethras, whatever it is you're implying… don't." He stood swiftly and disappeared into their shared tent.

Varric was unphased and followed him quickly. "What I'm implying is… you've clearly been lusting after the Herald-"

"Excuse me?"

"Pining, then? Whatever. You're interested, and she's interested… but when given the opportunity you run back to join us as quickly-"

"I'm not interested," Solas replied.

"Oh, come on, Chuckles. I've seen the look on your face-"

The man's glare caused Varric to stop midsentence which was a feat not many could accomplish. His look was downright murderous and something in it made Varric's blood run cold. Their mild-mannered apostate probably shouldn't be underestimated if that look was any hint. The elf pulled his shirt over his head and slid into his bedroll. "Regardless of any looks you believe you may have witnessed… and any opportunities which may have presented themselves recently… to pursue something with Aravas at this time would be… inappropriate."

"Wait, are you saying she offered… just now… and you turned her down?" Varric asked.

"I've said no such thing," Solas responded.

"Uh-huh. So… to summarize. You're not interested in the Herald, but even if you were, you wouldn't pursue anything. To further illustrate this point, she may or may not have offered to have sex with you just now and you may or may not have turned her down."

"Precisely. If there are no further questions, Master Tethras-"

"So, if another man _were_ to take her up on an offer, you wouldn't be upset by that?" Varric asked, arching an eyebrow. He finally pulled off his own shirt and laid on top of his bedroll. He tended to run hot and the bedrolls tended to cause him to overheat quickly.

"Not in the slightest. Now if that's all, good night, Varric."

"Huh. Well… good night, Chuckles."

 

* * *

 

 

He'd expected the next morning to be weird, but if Trouble was the least bit upset she'd been rejected by a man who had been throwing such ridiculously mixed signals he couldn't figure them out himself, she never showed it. She was the perkiest damn person he'd ever seen in the morning, next to Daisy, and he idly wondered if liking mornings was some sort of Dalish thing or if the two Dalish he knew just happened to be freaks of nature.

Varric was the last to emerge from his tent, and he was greeted with a cup of campfire percolated coffee and hardtack for breakfast. He added copious amounts of honey to his coffee (much to Trouble's horror) and took his time waiting for the hard bread to soak up the liquid before biting into it. "Seriously? This was all the breakfast we could muster?"

"The rest of us had flatbread and preserves and boiled eggs, but someone likes to sleep in late," Chuckles deadpanned, and for half a second Varric _almost_ believed him.

"Ass," he replied.

Cassandra hovered at the edge of the camp impatiently, one of the kittens Aravas had rescued weaving its way through her ankles. It was kind of adorable if you didn't think about the fact Cassandra would kill you for thinking it was adorable. "It was meant to be quick and easy so we could get moving," she stated, shooting him a Look (capital ‘L’ implied) over her shoulder.

In spite of Seeker's complaining, it wasn’t long before the four agents of the Inquisition are trudging up the steep slope to Lake Luthias, Varric on point. It wasn't as if they really expected the area to be booby-trapped, but… stranger things had happened, right?

There was no way to miss the cabin or to miss the man dutifully running drills with three farmers-turned-soldiers, and Varric couldn't help but wonder if he'd been simply ignoring the Inquisition camp _right beneath_ him for a specific reason or if he was so blind (and stupid) he didn't see them there. He sincerely hoped it was the first, because if it was the second…

He led them around the lake, approaching the Warden from behind. If his recruits had been worth two shits they would have said something. They weren't worth two shits. "Warden Blackwall?" Trouble called, interrupting the man's instructions on how to fight with a shield. Varric flinched inwardly. What was she doing walking up on a warrior like that?

The man spun on her. He was as tall as Solas but much broader and thicker. For half a second Varric thought he might snap Trouble in half. His hand moved to Bianca instinctively as the Warden turned. He took one look at Aravas. "You're not farmers. How do you know my name? Who sent you?"

Varric heard the hum of the arrow but before he could react, Aravas' shield sprang up to protect herself, the Warden, and the Warden's recruits. An instant later, Solas' was up to protect himself, Varric and Cassandra. The arrow was caught by the Warden's shield. "Help or get out!" the Warden demanded. Chaos exploded around them as the bandits shouted a war cry.

Lightning arced from Trouble's staff to the bandits skipping from attacker to attacker and momentarily stunning them. Seeker and Blackwall seemed to move in unison, slamming into two different bandits at the same time. Solas froze one of the men solid and when Bianca's bolt impacted the man shattered on the spot.

The recruits barely had to lift their swords before the small group of bandits was lying dead or dying on the ground, and Varric wondered why the hell any group that small would have thought attacking them was a good idea. Blackwall gave a rousing speech and sent the farmers home to protect themselves before turning to face them again. "As I was saying before we were interrupted; you're not bandits or apostates or runaway Templars, so who are you and who sent you?"

"My name is Aravas Lavellan, and I'm an agent of the Inquisition. We'd like to ask you a few questions about the Grey Wardens," Trouble replied.

Blackwall's eyes slid over Trouble's form taking her in and lingering a bit on her gloved left hand. Recognition seemed to bloom on his face; Varric realized word of the Herald was spreading, and he wasn't so sure Aravas was going to be happy about that. "What sort of questions?"

"The Wardens have disappeared. We're investigating the possibility they were connected to the death of Divine Justinia. Do you have any knowledge of that?" Aravas asked. Cassandra shifted beside her, her hand falling to the hilt of the sword that had been re-sheathed from the earlier attack.

"First off, I didn't know they had disappeared, but I don't believe they would be connected," Blackwall replied as he crossed his arms over his chest, but and it was clear he was uncomfortable with the question. "Wardens don't get involved with politics. That's not what they do." Varric glanced at Chuckles who clearly rolled his eyes.

"So where would they have gone in such a hurry and why?" Aravas challenged.

"I don't know. Maybe Weisshaupt in the Southern Anderfels. I've received no orders- maybe they got lost or were intercepted. I travel on my own, recruiting; I haven't seen any other Wardens for months."

Aravas narrowed her silver eyes for just a split second, an almost imperceptible shift in her visage indicating distrust that she hid with a sudden broad smile, "ah, no worries then. I suppose if you know nothing, we'll be on our way. Sorry to disturb you."

She turned her back and tugged on Cassandra's arm; the warrior was reluctant to move, but did eventually, looking over her shoulder to glare at the Grey Warden as she left. Varric and Chuckles moved behind the women to leave, but only managed to take a couple of steps.

"Wait… you said… Inquisition?" Blackwall called. They all paused and Aravas turned back around to face him.

"I did."

"I've heard about the good you've been doing, trying to fix the holes in the sky, trying to help people, in spite of the Divine's death. Thinking we're absent at a time like this is just as bad as thinking we're involved. Maybe you could use someone like me; maybe you could use a Warden?" Blackwall sounded unsure of the offer, perhaps a little hesitant to offer his assistance, but without anyone there to give orders and with no other Wardens around, who was going to tell him not to?

Trouble looked at Seeker who shrugged. "The Inquisition could use all the help it can get. Warden Blackwall, we accept your offer," she said offering her hand. The Warden took it with a firm shake. "Welcome to the Inquisition."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald and her companions - including the new recruit Blackwall - return to Haven, where Aravas has a letter waiting from her Clan.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _She never thought she'd consider anywhere members of her Clan were not as a home, but as they approached Haven, Aravas found herself with a strange sense of belonging. Whether it was in the sound of the soldiers drilling, the blacksmith hammering, or Commander Cullen calling out excitedly "Herald!" she wasn't sure. The attack by the archer hadn't slowed them down much; with the potions and Solas' skill at healing, her leg and ribs were nearly good to go by the next morning, and the nearly four-day journey left was no issue at all._
> 
> _She dismounted as soon as the stables were within sight, handing the reigns to a stable hand, and grinning broadly as she approached Cullen and his drilling recruits. "I've got another recruit for you," she exclaimed; the Commander seemed surprised. "Warden Blackwall, I'd like you to meet Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition. I'm sure if you ask nicely the Warden would be happy to spar with your men and maybe teach them a few new techniques. He's saved my life twice already."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always:  
> Most Elvhen names came from [FenxShiral's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenxShiral/pseuds/FenxShiral) fantastic [Project Elvhen: Book of Names](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401050?view_full_work=true).  
> Bits of Elvish from either [FenxShiral's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenxShiral/pseuds/FenxShiral) [Project Elvhen: Expanding the Elvhen Language](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553883?view_full_work=true) or [Project Elvhen: An Elvhen Lexicon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848?view_full_work=true)  
> Lesser known bits of elvish are translated in the endnotes.

"Get down!" Blackwall yelled as he threw himself at Aravas; the sound of the snapping bowstring accompanying his yell was unmistakable.

Several things happened at once: the impact of his body against hers caused the air to be forced out of her lungs, a snap reverberated in her head in unison with the metallic clang of the arrow bouncing off Blackwall's shield, Varric returned fire, and a magical barrier sprang to life around them all.

"We gotta stop meeting like this," Aravas huffed out with a laugh before she tried to inhale deeply. The sound she made was little more than a choked gasp; the weight of the warrior on her was more than she could handle.

Blackwall shifted his weight from her, his green-hazel eyes meeting her silver. "Apologies, Herald," he said softly.

"Aravas, please," she wheezed.

There was silence in the woods as Cassandra moved forward, shield raised, to the area from which the arrow originated. Aravas heard Cassandra's boot hit something heavy with a thud. "He's dead," she declared. "Varric hit him in the heart."

The warrior stood slowly and offered Aravas a hand. "These are desperate times if a loan bandit thought it wise to take on five heavily armed people," Blackwall commented.

"Or it was a distraction," Solas countered, his eyes narrowed warily. Aravas sighed, surprised to find the sound was still thin; she inhaled deeply, and her breathing sounded too airy, but she couldn't quite decipher what was wrong.

She reached out and took Blackwall's hand standing slowly. Pain shot through her left leg and she let out a scream (which wasn't quite as loud as she expected) and collapsed against the Warden. "Herald, what's wrong?" he asked.

"My leg… I think…" she wheezed out and the world went black.

 

* * *

 

"Well, she's alive, isn't she?" Blackwall's voice echoed in her head, but also sounded far away. She couldn't open her eyes. She couldn't call out. She was so tired, a wave of crushing fatigue threatened to pull her under.

"Barely," Solas snapped. "And no thanks to you, really. She had a punctured lung! If I hadn't been here-"

"Hey! Could you two stop yelling and scaring away all the potential dinner I'm trying to hunt here?" Varric bellowed.

Who were they talking about? She was fine, so was it Cassandra? Their words faded. She was floating. Someplace safe and warm. Her eyes slid open, but she couldn't see much more than blurred darkness and bright red fire, though something small and green floated in front of her vision. It flew close to her and trilled lightly before moving out of her field of vision. _A wisp?_

Her eyes dropped again, and she fell back into the darkness. She was vaguely nauseous or was that hunger? She inhaled the scent of dirt and grass and tried to get more comfortable. She could hear the sound of an owl somewhere in the woods. All other sounds were being drowned out by a rather loud argument nearby.

"We wouldn't _be_ in this position if _Hero_ hadn't thought to himself, 'Gee, let me throw my giant muscular Warden body at this tiny, elven mage body that's wearing half the blighted armor I am and just see what happens’!" Varric yelled. Oh right, Cassandra was hurt. Except she was human. And not a mage. That was funny.

"It was an instinct!" Blackwall shouted in his defense. She wished they wouldn't be so mean to him. He was only trying to help.

"A foolish, irrational, poorly thought out one!" Solas countered. "I hope the rest of your order is not as short-sighted as you."

Something tugged at her consciousness and she tried to force herself to say something, but she couldn't quite get words out. She sighed, and it made a good noise, a full noise. She was happy about that, but she couldn't remember why. Her eyelids were heavy. Sleeping was good.

Her ribs hurt, a dull ache like she was bruised, pulsing and hot beneath her skin. She became aware of the sound of someone who wasn't her breathing. Nearby, her team was debating what to do. Who was near her then?

"We can't risk the potions yet, not until we've set her leg, and we cannot do that until she awakens," Cassandra said wearily. Oh good. She was fine, then.

Aravas tried to tell them she was awake, in case they were talking about her, but she felt gentle fingers brush at her bangs, and Solas whispered softly. "Rest, vhenan. You need to heal."

Her brows knit with confusion, but suddenly it made sense. She was half-delirious and either dreaming or hallucinating. Yes, that _must_ be it.

 

* * *

 

Her leg was pounding, throbbing with pain and so was her head; her ribs ached, and breathing was painful, but not so nearly as painful as her leg. She was thirsty, so thirsty. But mostly, her leg hurt. Bad. Her foot though, it was fine. It… no. She couldn't feel it. That was not fine. Or wait, she could feel it, puffy and tingling. Still not good. She opened her eyes. The moonlight barely breached the canopy of the forest, and through the patchwork of leaves, she could see stars. She missed her Clan and couldn't help but wonder if anyone else were looking at the same stars.

She groaned softly and sat up on her elbows. Some distance away Varric, Cassandra, and Solas were arguing, still. The Warden sat to her left by her throbbing, outstretched leg. He glanced over at her worry etched onto his face.

"Welcome back," he said stoically.

"Where did I go?" she asked, her throat dry and her voice hoarse. He opened the water skin by his side and slid up next to her, helping her to drink before he answered.

"The Fade, probably. You were out pretty deep."

"My leg hurts like hell," she said ignoring his statement. She'd known she'd passed out; she’d also known she wasn't in the Fade. She simply lost consciousness and regained it at intervals, but those intervals were blurry, and she barely remembered what had happened. She didn't know how to articulate the difference between being in the Fade while asleep and being unconscious to someone who wasn't a mage.

"It's broken," he explained.

The shadow of guilt hung on his face and she shifted a bit so she could rest her hand on his arm. "Don't," she said softly.

"Well, it is my fault. Along with the broken ribs and punctured lung which nearly killed you," Blackwall replied just as soft. "I'm sorry for that, by the way."

"Don't be," she replied. "The arrow could have been dipped in poison which would have been a thousand times worse." He nodded and she gave his arm a bit of a squeeze. "I heard a bit of what they said while I was out. I wasn't fully asleep. Don't let them get to you. They're just a bit overprotective since I'm the only one with the magic hand that can seal the holes in the sky."

"They have reason to be," he said. "I was supposed to get them when you awoke, so that could be set. Do you think… are you ready for that?" he asked.

"I probably should be, before I lose my leg," she replied with a sigh.

Blackwall cleared his throat and called, "she's awake. Properly this time."

 

* * *

 

 Her four companions were gathered around her, her boot and sock had been removed, and her breeches' leg had been sliced open almost to her knee. Her leg was swollen almost unrecognizably from the middle of her shin down and a larger knot had gathered a few inches below her knee. Solas was frowning deeply as he took in the sight of her leg. Even the gentle touch of his fingertips on her flesh sent tendrils of pain shooting through her body.

"This is going to be delicate work… and painful," Solas said, his tone dark. "Seeker, if you could hold her knee in place while I set the leg; Warden, you give her something to brace against. Varric, I need you to keep her conscious while I work."

They moved in unison which Aravas thought was a miracle for a team which hours before seemed unable to stop screaming at one another. Blackwall moved behind her, one leg on each side of her, and her leaning against the broad expanse of his chest, Varric moved to her right, giving Cassandra room to settle next to her left knee.

Blackwall took her left hand in his calloused hand. "Squeeze it as hard as you need to," he whispered, and she nodded.

"We… uh… cut some leather off Solas' belt," Varric said softly.

"Yep," she replied. Her heart was hammering in her chest in anticipation of the pain to come. She'd been lucky enough to have never broken a bone, thus far, but she'd seen bones set and it wasn't pretty. Thankfully, it hadn't broken skin – the risk of infection was far worse than the pain to reset it.

The look of pity on Varric's face as he slid the leather between her teeth was something she wasn't likely to forget any time soon. Solas was working soothing cold into her flesh as his hands began to travel their way up her calf.

"So," Varric said casually, "Trouble, did I tell you the time Blondie almost got hired at The Blooming Rose?"

Cassandra made a disgusted noise as Aravas shook her head. "Well," Varric began and Solas pressed closer to the unsightly knot. She let out an unintentional whimper. "Shortly after Hawke arrived in Kirkwall, he got some news of a Templar recruit having disappeared. We followed the trail to the Blooming Rose." Varric laughed. "Just remembered, we had to go to the Rose because Cullen was too… Cullen… to talk to the ladies there."

Aravas raised her eyebrows as if to ask what Varric was talking about and Varric must have sensed the question because he pressed on. "It's a whore house, Trouble, and trying to talk to whores would have apparently gotten his chantry boy knickers in a twist."

She snorted, and Solas interrupted the conversation. "On three… one…" Cassandra pressed down around her knee which sent stars exploding behind her eyes, and she let out another involuntary whimper.

"So, we're at the Rose, trying to track down this recruit who's gone missing, and-"

"Two…"

"The Mistress who runs the place is being super cagey about letting Hawke see the customer records-"

"Three."

There was a sickening crack and the pain which Aravas felt was unlike any she'd felt before. She bit down on the leather without meaning to and screamed a wild and high-pitched sound as she gripped Blackwall's hand tight enough she felt as though she was pulverizing it. The woods lurched around her and even though Varric was still telling his story she had no idea what he was saying.

"-looks at Blondie and says… whoa… Trouble… Trouble, stay with me." Varric's voice seemed to call her back from the edge. She was suddenly aware her head was back against Blackwall's shoulder and her hand was cramping from how tight she was holding his and she was both sweating and shaking. Not good. She was going into shock. She let her hand relax and forced herself to hold her head up, spitting out the leather she'd been attempting to bite into half.  "Hey… welcome back," Varric said soothingly. "You good?"

"Do I look good?" she spat with more vitriol than she'd realized she could muster.

"You look great," Cassandra replied, and Aravas shot her an unamused glare.

Now that the bone was back into place, Solas began to push healing magic through her leg, but every touch of his fingers sent another jolt of pain through her; she swore she could feel the bone slowly and painfully knitting itself back together. She let out a groan and leaned back against Blackwall again.

"Hey, Trouble, I got an idea," Varric started, "since you obviously don't like my story, why don't you tell one of your own? You were your Clan's First, right? You've gotta have good stories. That's what you did, wasn't it?"

"There is no one here who wants to hear old Dalish legends," Aravas argued as a shudder passed through her and her stomach lurched and threatened to spill its contents; what could possibly be in it? It had been hours since she'd last eaten.

"I wouldn't mind," Blackwall encouraged.

"Neither would I," Cassandra added, and Aravas couldn't help but give her a skeptical look. The Chantry and its people usually didn't like to hear Elven tales.

Solas' hands were alternating between soothing cold and healing heat. "Can you move your toes?" he asked her, avoiding the unspoken question concerning if he would mind hearing Dalish stories. Aravas concentrated on wiggling her toes, but they barely moved. "Good," he said absently.

"Solas?" she asked, and the man glanced up at her. For a moment she thought she saw concern etched on his face, but it was gone as soon as it registered, hidden behind a mask. "Solas doesn't want to hear Dalish legends," she murmured. She sighed softly as she felt the heat from his hands soak into her muscle as he gave her a break from the pain of having her bone forcefully stitched back together.

"Solas is a good name," she mused. "Wonder if your parents named you Solas because they wanted you to have pride or because you were their pride."

"What?" Cassandra asked, confusion clear in her voice. She shifted, armor rattling as she moved from her knees to actually sit. Solas didn't offer an explanation.

"Elven names are important," Aravas expounded. "I mean, I guess they're important for everyone - especially nobles, right? But Dalish names - and I guess City Elf names too - can tell you everything you need to know about a person. It's their Clan and their mother or father's name; it's their parent's hope for the child or the circumstances of their birth. It… it can be everything, but they can be misleading, too."

"How?" Blackwall asked.

"Well, I'm a Lavellan, but I'm not. Fenedhis lasa!" she shouted as Solas began to push healing energy into her leg and the bone began to weave itself together. "I need to hit something." She couldn't stop herself from glaring at the mage who was knelt next to her left leg, concentrating, even as he glanced up at her smirking.

Blackwall shifted stretched out his leg to give her a target. "Feel free," he offered.

Without a word, she balled up her fist and punched the warrior's meaty thigh, the padding of his armor produced a hefty _thud_ as she made contact. The warrior probably felt nothing, but the action made Aravas feel much better, even though her hand was now aching from the impact.

"What do you mean you're not a Lavellan?" Varric asked as she inhaled sharply. The world spun again; she closed her eyes and her head fell back against Blackwall's shoulder without her intending for it to.

"My parents are from Clan Ghilain," she explained, swallowing hard and forcing herself to stay awake to form the words. "The Dalish trade people as needed, for bonding and other reasons. Sometimes they keep their original Clan name and other times, they take their new Clan's name. My parents took Clan Lavellan's name when they joined. Shortly after their bonding a lot of Clan Lavellan's hunters were killed in an avalanche near Sundermount. My parents were both hunters and-"

"But why would they give up their Clan name?" Cassandra asked.

"It was a symbolic gesture of their fealty to their new Clan." She exhaled slowly. The pain was starting to fade a bit. "It was important to them to show they were there to stay, and they wanted to be there. Some of the hunters from other Clans who joined stayed temporarily until the younger hunters were ready to take over. My parents intended to stay with Clan Lavellan."

"I think the worst of it is done," Solas said softly. She nodded and lifted her head from Blackwall's shoulder. The unsightly knot was gone, but the rest of the swelling was still present. Solas was able to touch her skin without her feeling like she was going to faint immediately, but it was still painful.

The cold of his fingertips felt good and she wished she could muster up enough concentration and mana to help him heal her, but she was still fighting to stay conscious. "All Dalish middle names come from their parents," she explained. "Girls get their mother's name and boys their father's. But given names… that's where things get interesting. My mother's name - so my middle name - was Ladahlen, which means love of the forest. My father's name is Banassan. He was born during the new moon and his parents hoped he would be a fearsome hunter, so his name means dark arrow."

"And Solas means pride?" Cassandra asked.

"Yeah," she confirmed, as the elf himself continued to ignore the conversation. Between the cold and the healing energy he was pushing through the tissue of her leg, the swelling was reducing drastically and so was the pain.

"So, what's Aravas mean?" Varric asked.

She sniffed a bit. "My parents decided my father would choose a name for a boy and my mother would choose a name for a girl and they would surprise one another once I was born. My mother died in childbirth before she managed to tell my father the name she'd chosen, so… he gave me the name he picked out. Names ending with an 's' are usually masculine," she answered.

"You didn't answer the question," Blackwall pointed out. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," she mumbled. "It's just… I don't really know what it means. There are certain Elvish words we've lost. It's just in a lullaby my grandmother used to sing to him."

Solas' fingertips ran up the back of her calf and he cupped it gently, his thumb resting where the knot had been. His fingertips changed temperature as relaxing heat began to surge through her muscles, and it took everything that she had not to moan softly. "It could have multiple meanings. It could mean 'my bond' or 'my chain'," he offered, "or it could connote some sort of long, arduous journey."

"Neither of those is very positive," Varric spoke up from her right.

"Neither is pride," Solas replied, "not on its own. Our name and its meaning, like everything else in this world, is what we make of it." He finally let go of her leg. "It should be safe to take the potions, now," he said. "They should finish up the rest of the healing for your bruises and swelling. You should drink those and get some rest."

 

* * *

 

She never thought she'd consider anywhere members of her Clan were not as a home, but as they approached Haven, Aravas found herself with a strange sense of _belonging_. Whether it was in the sound of the soldiers drilling, the blacksmith hammering, or Commander Cullen calling out excitedly "Herald!" she wasn't sure. The attack by the archer hadn't slowed them down much; with the potions and Solas' skill at healing, her leg and ribs were nearly good to go by the next morning, and the nearly four-day journey left was no issue at all.

She dismounted as soon as the stables were within sight, handing the reigns to a stable hand, and grinning broadly as she approached Cullen and his drilling recruits. "I've got another recruit for you," she exclaimed; the Commander seemed surprised. "Warden Blackwall, I'd like you to meet Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition. I'm sure if you ask nicely the Warden would be happy to spar with your men and maybe teach them a few new techniques. He's saved my life twice already."

Solas scoffed behind her as he passed by, headed into the town, and likely straight for his cabin. She shot him a look over her shoulder as the two soldiers shook hands. "Good to have you, Warden," Cullen said amiably.

"Pleasure to be here," Blackwall replied.

The two men fell into an awkward silence, neither of them very good at carrying a conversation and particularly small talk. "Blackwall, why don't you see if Harritt can repair your shield for you, maybe sharpen your blade?" she offered.

"Right and-"

"Just that way," Cullen pointed, he motioned for Finn, who leaped from his seat next to Cullen's tent where he was diligently working with a pencil to copy parts of the Chant of Light for practice. "Squire, show Ser Blackwall how to get to the smithy and assist him with whatever he needs for the day, and see if Lady Montilyet can find him a cabin."

"Or a tent," Blackwall suggested.

"Or a tent," Cullen confirmed.

"Yes, Commander," the boy replied eagerly, and he took off in a run before he realized Blackwall was not directly behind him and slowed his pace.

Aravas watched Finn fondly before turning her attention back to Cullen. "How's he doing?" she asked.

"Well," the Commander replied, "although he's eager to get out of his lessons in any way he can, which I suppose, is understandable. He has more energy than he's ever had from having a full belly."

"You're not being too harsh on him for that, are you?" she asked, silver eyes sparkling.

"Of course not," Cullen replied, still smiling broadly. The silence fell between them, and he shifted awkwardly. "Did… um… were you…" he flushed a bit, his hand moving to rub at the back of his head nervously, "that is… did my lessons help? Were you able to keep up with everyone else?"

"Oh yes, thank you," she replied. "I'm quite the equestrian, now."

Cullen's smile faded a bit. "Ah, well… I guess that means…" he trailed off, clearing his throat, "our lessons wouldn't need to continue then?" He glanced away from her, something like disappointment on his face, and Aravas felt her stomach do an odd little flop. The man was sickeningly sweet and more than handsome, he was… adorable.

She took a step closer to him, conscious of the fact she was still filthy from the road and likely not very appealing, but hoping _maybe_ the fact he'd gone over a month without seeing her would make it not matter very much. "That is… unless there are… advanced techniques you'd like to show me."

"A-advanced- uh, well… Master Dennett would be better suited-"

"Then perhaps we could get together for some other reason?" she offered.

His warm hazel eyes were lifted to hers then hope blossomed on his face with his smile. "Some other-?"

"Chess?" she interrupted. "Tonight? After supper?"

"Yes," he agreed, the word escaping him with a rush on his exhale. Aravas hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until that moment, and if it were possible, her smile got brighter.

"Good. Now, I should probably peel out of this armor and find a bath," Aravas suggested with a laugh, "until I horribly offend anyone who's downwind."

Cullen chuckled, "of course." She turned to head toward Haven as he called out, "Oh, Herald! Josephine has some letters and reports for you. Perhaps you should-"

"Who did you think I was going to have arrange my bath?" she asked.

 

* * *

 

Aravas sighed as she slipped further down into the stone tub. The heating rune on the thing prevented her from having to use her magic, and it was deep enough she could soak nearly her entire body at once. She'd already scrubbed her face and washed her hair, and now was simply _relaxing_. The luxury was unlike anything she'd known - the oils and herbs the Antivan had arranged for her seemed decadent to the extreme, but she'd been unable to refuse.

Josie hadn't kept her long, detailing the communications from Leliana's scouts who had gone to her clan. They were doing well, had accepted the goods, and welcomed the Inquisition scouts with open arms, and they'd returned one letter - just one. That part had been slightly disappointing, but Leliana had left a carrier raven with them so that they could communicate with her easier. She was grateful for the kindness.

She dried her hands and unsealed the wax on the letter she'd received, surprised to see Ghimyean's tight, unruly scrawl on the page.

_Aravas,_

_Eirlana and I had a very nice first anniversary, although it would have been better if you had been here. Mamae made cinnamon flat cakes to celebrate, and we gave thanks to Sylaise for a happy first year. Eirlana is hoping that by next year she will be with child. The thought slightly terrifies me; I'm not sure I'll be a good father._

_Mahanon and Adhalea are speaking of bonding, but neither seems to be very serious about it. They joke and laugh and flirt, but whether or not something will come of it I'm not sure. They would make a good pair, though, don't you think?_

_Other than that, things are pretty normal. Your father and I lead the clan in most kills this season, and the clan’s trading is going well. Oh- I nearly forgot, that farmer who you negotiated with before my bonding has become one of our number one traders; he and his wife continue to give us very fair prices. I think we'll likely trade them some of the rice and honey the Inquisition brought us (how did they get so much honey, I wonder?)._

_We all miss you a lot, especially the children, who are driving Deshanna mad asking for stories. I know what you are doing is important (saving the world and all) and you wouldn't be doing it if it wasn't your duty, but please try to come back as soon as possible. Your Clan needs you._

_Yours truly,_

_Ghimyean_

_P.S. I'm not sure how I could have forgotten since she's reminded me four times just today, but Silea wanted me to tell you she accepted her position as the Clan's Tael. I probably should have led with the fact she cast her first spell about a week ago, shouldn't I? She said she was trying to make a plant grow, and it just_ _… did. Anyway, she's very excited to learn from you and wants you to come back as soon as possible. Some of the Clan has already started referring to her as Sael, and she is very angry about that. So, come back. She's gotten a bit more frightening since you left._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _tael_ \- second


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Varric welcome Blackwall to the Inquisition, while the advisors let Aravas know where she's needed next.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _"Speaking of victories, Solas, what do you think of the new guy?"_
> 
> _"Pardon?" Solas asked. "What does victory have to do with Blackwall?"_
> 
> _"Do you play diamondback?" Varric inquired. Solas felt like his head was spinning trying to keep up with the dwarf's line of thought. He'd played diamondback with the hunters of Aravas' clan and a couple of times in taverns since then in an attempt to blend in._
> 
> _"I have, yes. Why?" he finally asked._
> 
> _Varric chuckled. "I have a **lucrative** proposition for you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [enigmalea](http://enigmalea.tumblr.com). Drop me drabble prompts in my ask. [Click here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/post/185117840754) for instructions on how to submit one, and [here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/tagged/my-drabbles) to read completed prompts.
> 
> You can also find me on Discord at [The Hanged Man](https://discordapp.com/invite/8FsBN4p), which focuses on DA fanfic and is for readers, writers, and betas alike! (Please note the server is NSFW and 18+ only.)

Solas sat as casually as he could muster on the low wall above the cooking fire Varric had erected in the center of Haven. The gates were open, and he could see through them to where Cullen and Aravas sat huddled over a chessboard set up on a makeshift table fashioned from a crate and two makeshift stools from repurposed barrels.

"So, Chuckles, if you aren't upset by the idea of someone else taking Trouble up on her offer, what _exactly_ is that look on your face meant to convey? How _overjoyed_ you are she's spending time with Curly?" Varric asked as he knelt beside him. He had tried to temper the scowl which had been present on his face and thought he'd succeeded, but apparently, he'd failed.

The dwarf thrust a tankard of warm mead into his hands, and Solas accepted it without protest, taking a sip immediately. He forced his face into a relaxed expression. "What – or rather who – the Herald does in her spare time is no concern of mine."

Varric laughed. "Have you been practicing? I _almost_ believed you that time."

He tore his eyes away from the couple just as Aravas let out a laugh which echoed across the open air and turned to glare at the dwarf. Varric seemed unmoved and unimpressed. "What do you suppose will happen after we seal the Breach, Child of Stone?" he asked solemnly.

"Thedas celebrates avoiding the apocalypse _again_. Statues are erected in our honor. There might even be a parade. I'll probably get another book deal," the rogue mused.

"And then?"

"We go home," Varric suggested.

"Yes, precisely. _We_ go home. Me, you, the Herald, that Warden. But the Inquisition won't be done with what they set out to do," Solas began. He paused to take a sip of the mead and turned his attention back to Aravas and Cullen. He watched her pick up a pawn and move it resolutely. A waste of a move and she knew it. What was she doing?

"What's the point, Chuckles?" he asked. He finally set his crossbow down and joined Solas on the wall, his legs dangling almost absurdly compared to Solas' long legs which could easily touch the ground.

"The point is… ah, she'd leading him on," he mumbled absently.

"Excuse me?" Varric asked. He saw the dwarf move to take a deep drink of whatever was in his mug.

"She could have easily had mate in four two moves ago, and she's blatantly moved twice with no purpose, giving him an opening to see the endgame, but he isn't getting it. She'll go in for the finish, soon," Solas explained.

"Are we talking about the game or-"

"Yes, the game, Varric. The game," Solas snapped. "She's toying with him… or trying to decide whether or not to let him win."

Varric snorted. "If Trouble is the kind of woman I think she is, she'll let him win."

"What? Why would she do _that_?" Solas asked, his brow furrowing. Aravas certainly hadn't let him win. He'd had to fight tooth and nail for every victory, and there were several games where she'd managed to outmaneuver him.

"Because Curly needs every little victory he can get," he replied without hesitation.

Solas' eyes widened as the dwarf's words sunk in. He took a long drink of his mead, suddenly wanting to not think too deeply about what that implied about Aravas' ability to _manipulate_ others. Had he been so enamored of her he'd missed some sort of devious side to the woman? Had she manipulated him? His jaw clenched as he watched her leave her tower wide open, and Cullen, not being a _complete_ imbecile took the opening for what it was. A sacrifice. She was throwing the game. Solas' stomach lurched.

"So, what was your point about Curly and Trouble earlier?" Varric asked. He finished off his mug of _whatever_ and sat it rather forcefully on the wall.

"We go home," Solas picked back up. "She goes back to her Clan who would not be receptive to a _shemlen_ joining them. Particularly a former-Templar."

"Ah, so that look on your face is because you're worried about Curly's feelings getting hurt, and not at all about the fact I was right and she is going to throw the game to let him have a victory so that _she_ can have a… uh… _victory_ , right?" Varric asked smugly. Solas refused to answer, refused to even acknowledge the question.

"Speaking of victories, Solas, what do you think of the new guy?"

"Pardon?" Solas asked. "What does victory have to do with Blackwall?"

"Do you play diamondback?" Varric inquired. Solas felt like his head was spinning trying to keep up with the dwarf's line of thought. He'd played diamondback with the hunters of Aravas' clan and a couple of times in taverns since then in an attempt to blend in.

"I have, yes. Why?" he finally asked.

Varric chuckled. "I have a _lucrative_ proposition for you."

 

* * *

 

"Herooooooo," Varric called loudly and melodically across The Singing Maiden. Solas winced as briefly all eyes turned toward them. Blackwall crossed to them without hesitation, and Solas noted idly how much of his bulk was apparently in the armor. He was still a large man, but the armor did him no favors, tending to disguise his muscle as fat. Varric motioned for the waitress to bring them another round as the other patrons went back to their conversations. "Listen, Chuckles here was telling me he's _never_ played Diamondback. He's never even _heard_ of it."

_Well, that's going a bit far,_ Solas thought, _he'll never believe that_.

Blackwall's thick eyebrows raised slightly. "Where are you from, mage?" he asked taking a deep drink of the ale. If Solas had to guess, he'd say half of it was gone in the first drink. _Excellent_.

"The north. A very small village where we didn't play Diamondback," he deflected. It wasn't a lie. The village he was born in was north of here, close to the border of Tevinter, and they had never played Diamondback – an Elvhen game which was very similar, but not Diamondback. The fact that was millennia ago was irrelevant.

The warrior laughed. "Well, you'll have to play if we want to do something to pass the time in camp," he suggested.

Solas frowned deeply, as if he wasn't happy about that suggestion, and took a sip of his mead. Or rather, he _didn't_ take a sip of his mead, but he pantomimed it. He needed his wits about him if this were going to work. "There are other things to do at camp," he suggested.

"Oh, come on, Chuckles! I've only got so many stories, and you can't take the entire library with you on the road… there's only so much walking in the Fade you can do-"

The human choked on his last drink of ale and waved Flissa over for another one. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Chuckles is our resident Fade expert. Crazy man has balls large enough to intentionally go into the Fade to converse with uh… _spirits_ on a regular basis. Must be good at it, because he hasn't become possessed or become an abomination yet, and he's… I dunno… older than all of us," Varric supplied.

"Yes, thank you, Varric," he mumbled.

"I'm not sure what's hardest to believe, that he's the oldest or that he _intentionally_ seeks out spirits," Blackwall mused. Solas noticed he was nursing this ale slower. This might take a while. "How old are you, exactly?"

"Won't say," Varric answered for him. "But he's confident he's older than all of us, even after I told him I was forty."

"Really?" The man's voice clearly conveyed his shock, and Solas felt his cheeks heating. He never should have mentioned it, because it had started a guessing game. He was going to have to choose an age and _remember_ it soon, but to do so would establish personal information they could attempt to verify. It had been a stupid mistake.

"Yep," Varric confirmed with a sage nod. "Trouble says he can't be that much older than forty, though, and she'd be the authority, right?

"I rather believe our Lady Herald is the authority on a great many things," the warrior said wistfully. Solas felt his jaw clenched and he forced himself to relax it by actually taking a sip of mead.

Varric's eyes shifted back to Solas almost imperceptibly, and he forced his expression to remain neutral. "Aravas is quite knowledgeable for one so young," he supplied, finally.

"So… Diamondback," Varric interrupted before they could continue down that line of conversation. "I was thinking you and I could teach Chuckles to play. You be the opponent, and I'll be his coach."

Blackwall seemed to consider the suggestion and took another sip of his ale. "Oh… why the Void not?"

 

* * *

 

Varric had "helped him" win a few hands of Diamondback, before declaring it too late for him to continue and leaving Solas to intentionally lose several hands in a row. Eventually, Solas had suggested to Blackwall he thought he could win the next hand because he _finally_ understood the strategy, and as the man balked, Solas cajoled him into placing a wager.

In hindsight, Blackwall's first defeat was a bit ruthless. Once he'd started, Solas struck at him with brutal efficiency which belied his true dislike for the man and his carelessness with Aravas, and yet, Blackwall took it with good humor. They'd played well into the night, Blackwall getting more and more inebriated as he went and playing worse and worse until Solas barely had to put any effort into strategy at all. He should have stopped when he'd gotten all of the man's coin, but his pride and ego had taken root, and he'd not stopped until he'd sent the Warden away naked, humiliated, and clutching a bucket to his privates.

Which was how he found himself standing in front of the other man's cabin holding everything from his smalls to his boots, neatly folded and (magically) laundered. From the smell it was difficult for Solas to judge how long it had been since that miraculous feat had occurred, but if he was going to return the man's clothing, he was going to make sure it was at least clean.

He knocked gently on the wooden door to the man's cabin and was rewarded with a groan and a grunt in answer. The door was swung open a moment later to Blackwall clutching a blanket around his obviously nude waist and leaning heavily against the door. The man squinted against the brightness of the sun a scowl plastered to his face. "What?" he snapped.

Solas took pity and moved so that his form shielded the man's face from the rising sun. Blackwall blinked blearily at him. "Ahhh… so… I lost to you at Diamondback?" he asked groggily, licking his lips.

"A bit," Solas replied, unable to keep the smirk off his face. He held the boots out for Blackwall to take them, and the man did so, turning and tossing them into his cabin with irreverence and immediately flinching at the noise of them hitting the ground.

"Well, thanks for returning these," he said, reaching out to take the stack of clothes with his free arm.

"You're welcome. Never let it be said I'm not merciful," Solas requested as he deposited them as well as he could into the man's hand. Blackwall immediately clutched the bundle to his chest so he wouldn't drop something.

"Is it too much to hope you'd be as merciful with my coin?" he asked.

Solas snorted. "Quite," he replied. "Have a good day, Warden."

"You too, mage."

 

* * *

 

The pain which had become her constant companion intensified and Aravas found she could no longer ignore it. She let out a hiss of pain and balled her left hand into a fist in an attempt to mitigate the roaring inferno.

"Are you alright?" Solas' voice was soothing as he crossed to her from where he'd been outside of his cabin reading.

"I'm fine," she snapped, not meaning her tone to be as harsh as it was. The truth was she could no longer will her fingers to open. He was by her side in a moment, reaching for her hand, but she drew it back instinctively.

"Please, Herald-" She scowled at him, brows knitted together furiously. "Aravas," he corrected. "Let me help."

She was shaking as she held her hand out for him, ashamed that she'd resisted giving it to him in the first place. Solas had never hurt her. Her entire arm felt as if it were vibrating as Solas took it gently in his hands. In moments, she felt his mana course through her system, the pain subsiding almost instantly. She was too exhausted, too nauseous, too everything to focus on the type of spell he was using.

She closed her eyes and felt her hand relaxing on its own, her fingers unfurling as her arm stopped vibrating. She became aware suddenly she had broken into a cold, clammy sweat. Solas pressed his fingers into the tense and tender flesh of her palm, heedless of the mark which resided there. She let out a relaxed breath and opened her eyes.

"Does that happen often?" he asked, concern etched onto his handsome features. For half a second, Aravas cursed the fact he'd made it more than clear he wasn't interested in her. At least she knew why now. She'd seen him leaving Blackwall's cabin that morning and had been able to put two and two together.

"Not since we stabilized the Breach," she exhaled softly. "First time since then, actually." She swallowed hard and tried not to think too hard about how _amazing_ his fingers felt on her hand, or on how he'd moved subtly closer, and seemed to be staring at her with an intensity she'd never noticed from him before. "Is it bad?"

His frown seemed to deepen. "It could indicate the Breach is becoming unstable again. I'd like the chance to run more tests-"

"Yes," she agreed eagerly, "but not right now. I'm late for a meeting with Cullen."

"With the Commander alone, or-" Solas asked hesitantly. There seemed to be a hint of an emotion she couldn't place- jealousy, perhaps? Or maybe he was simply concerned about the mark and the implications for the Breach.

"No, no," she reassured him. "With all of the… uh… bosses."

"I suppose I should let you go, then," he said softly. She flushed a bit, suddenly aware that he was still massaging her hand.

"Uh… yes," she said, and as he let go over her hand she flexed it slowly. "Good-bye, Solas."

"Dareth shiral, lethal'lan."

 

* * *

 

Aravas was still looking at her hand almost as if it were foreign to her as she stepped into the war room which had been set up in the back part of the Haven chantry. Her mind, however, was not on her marked hand, but instead was on the elven apostate she'd just left. Solas was… confusing.

There were times she was convinced he was interested in her, that he wanted to be near her, that he was attracted to her- and yet, he'd turned her down firmly. She thought when she'd seen him at Blackwall's cabin earlier that morning that she'd discovered why, but now? She wasn't so sure. Perhaps he didn't prefer men at all. Some part of her wanted to confront him, to demand an explanation for the mixed signals he sent, but another part of her was terrified of the answer.

But then… who knew where she'd be if she'd have had the nerve to speak up to Ghimyean years ago?

"Is everything okay, Herald?" Josephine asked. Aravas met the Antivan's gaze, giving her a smile to reassure her.

"Yes, of course."

"Does… does the Mark hurt?" she inquired, her brow furrowing.

There was a brief moment where Aravas considered hiding it, but what would be the point? Leliana's scouts would sniff out the truth before she had even left the Chantry. "A little," she admitted after a moment. "It's… it's a dull ache most of the time, but just before I arrived it… it got worse temporarily. I'm sure it's nothing, but Solas wants to check things out, just to make sure the Breach is still stable."

Cullen's expression darkened with concern. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he couldn't quite get the words out before Leliana managed to speak up, "please, let us know what he finds out," she said. Aravas nodded in agreement and took her seat, prepared for another boring day of troop movements and general reports. Ever since she'd returned from the Hinterlands, they'd been stagnant, trying to decide where to send her and her companions next.

They had pushed into Crestwood, the Fallow Mire, and the Storm Coast, scouting out the area and tracking reports of opened rifts, and although the situations in all of those areas seemed dire, they were - all of them - more concerned about the bizarre magic she'd discovered in Redcliffe - and the fact they would not let her into the city. She was surprised, therefore, when the meeting began with Leliana declaring, "we have decided you must go to Val Royeaux. What remains of the Chantry leadership and the Templars are meeting. We thought, perhaps, given a chance to meet you-"

"Me? The Dalish apostate some are claiming is marked by Andraste?" Aravas asked incredulously.

"We wish to attempt to gain their support," Josephine said.

"We've already been declared heretics," Aravas protested.

"That was before you went to the Hinterlands and aided the refugees, before you stopped both mages and Templars alike, before you began closing the rifts," Leliana explained. "Even now, public opinion is swaying in our favor. If we can also gain the support of the Chantry-"

"But what about the mages? There is something not right in Redcliffe and-"

"And if the mages are in some sort of trouble who better to help them than Templars?" Cullen asked.

"Oh sure, help them with Tranquility," Aravas snapped. She gasped and covered her mouth as soon as she said it, but the expression on Cullen's face changed as he paled. "I didn't mean that."

He shifted awkwardly behind the table, averting his gaze to the map. He cleared his throat, "you did, but… but regardless, we would like to ask you and your companions to travel to Val Royeaux to represent the Inquisition."

"Again, two Elven apostates, a Seeker, a dwarven author with connections who blew up a Chantry, and a Warden whose order is suspected of involvement with the Divines death?" she asked. She was trying not to focus on the tone of Cullen's voice, of how shaken he'd been at her accusation.

Josephine took a deep breath. "It is an unlikely envoy, I admit, but one which is symbolic and powerful. You are the Herald of Andraste, Solas is an apostate who is an expert on the Fade who has risked his freedom to aid us, Cassandra was the Divine's Right Hand, Varric was a companion to the Champion of Kirkwall, and Warden Blackwall is a senior Warden. As a united front, asking for support to legitimize the Inquisition, it will be difficult for the Chantry to deny the request. To do so would be to publicly decry your accomplishments thus far."

Aravas met Cassandra's gaze and noticed for the first time the Seeker was scowling. She wasn't any happier with this plan than Aravas, but her grim expression told Aravas all she needed to know. The Seeker had been cajoled into compliance. There was no getting out of this. "When do we leave?" she asked in exasperation.

"Two days," Cassandra practically growled.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition's agents head to Val Royeaux... in spite of Aravas' objections.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Val Royeaux is terrible. Never come here. It smells and there are too many people. I was asked to come here as the Herald of Andraste (hah!) to appeal to the Chantry for support for the Inquisition; I told them it was a mistake to send me, but they insisted. The Chantry is falling to pieces, more than it should be with a leader who was assassinated; something weird is going on there. Whatever you do, avoid shemlen as much as possible and definitely avoid Templars. I'm worried what problems me being Herald may cause for the Clan; please let me know if anyone starts harassing the Clan._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [enigmalea](http://enigmalea.tumblr.com). Drop me drabble prompts, anon love, or anon hate in my ask. [Click here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/post/185117840754) for instructions on how to submit one, and [here](https://enigmalea.tumblr.com/tagged/my-drabbles) to read completed prompts.
> 
> You can also find me on Discord at [The Hanged Man](https://discordapp.com/invite/8FsBN4p), which focuses on DA fanfic and is for readers, writers, and betas alike! (Please note the server is NSFW and 18+ only.)
> 
> Just an FYI, I'm going to be attempting to stick to a reply schedule for comments and reply to everything in batches on Saturdays. I've been super remiss in keeping up with replies to comments, and I'm going to try to get better. I appreciate everyone who's still reading, even with my 90 million projects and erratic updates!

They were nearly ready to depart from Haven. The meeting two days prior had ended with Josephine deciding to come with them, as Aravas had successfully argued her point she was not prepared to navigate either human or Chantry politics; they had immediately begun preparing for their journey after the meeting. Cullen had not spoken to her since other than to brusquely accept her apology at her statement.

Aravas had tried not to dwell on it too much, but it was difficult. In spite of their differences, she was finding she did _lik_ e Cullen. He was intelligent, though not cocky about it, and handsome; he carried a lot of responsibility on his shoulders. It was tough to get him to open up about some things - his time as a Templar was, for now, off-limits - but for others, he'd talk non-stop. She knew more about Honnleath and its strange stone statue which wasn't a statue than she knew about Haven.

And he was interested in her. He asked what it was like for her as Clan Lavellan's First and listened to her when she talked about the responsibilities of running the Clan's daily life. He asked about some of the tales of the Evanuris, and when she'd confessed she didn't believe she was the Herald of Andraste, he'd not judged her for it.

But whatever easy friendship (or potentially something more) they'd had, she'd ruined it. She sighed heavily as she adjusted her saddle and ran a hand down her horse's shoulder. She'd have to find a way to make it up to him.

"Excuse me," the man's voice startled her, and she tried to hide the jump it caused. The expression on his handsome face told her she had not succeeded. A quick glance at his armor told her he was not an Inquisition recruit, and so she quirked an eyebrow at him and straightened her shoulders to make herself appear _slightly_ more intimidating. It likely didn't work. "I've got a message for the Inquisition, but I'm having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me."

"We're… a bit busy, what with the hole in the sky," she said motioning behind him. "Who are you, soldier? New recruit?"

"Cremissius Aclassi, with the Bull's Chargers mercenary company," he said as if she should recognize the name. His expression fell a bit when she didn't immediately know who they were. "We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra."

She shifted slightly on her feet, waiting for the actual message to be delivered. He cleared his throat and pushed on. "We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, the Iron Bull offers the information free of charge. If you'd like to see what the Bull's Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work."

"Free of charge?" Aravas asked. "How magnanimous of him. What sort of name is 'The Iron Bull'?"

"The Qunari sort?" Cremissius asked, smirking a bit at Aravas' sarcasm. "Look, I know what you're thinking, but he leads from the front, pays well, and is a lot smarter than the last bastard I worked for. Best of all, he's professional. He accepts contracts from whoever makes the first real offer. This is the first time he's gone out of his way to pick a side."

"Huh, and why do you think that is?" she asked.

Cremissius' smirk deepened as he crossed his arms over his chest, and Aravas couldn't help but think that it was a really good look for him. "I'm not sure if you've noticed but… you're a bit busy, dealing with a hole in the sky," he teased, throwing her own words back at her as he turned to haphazardly motion toward the Breach. "That thing is visible from all of Thedas and the Chief thinks anyone who isn't concerned about it probably should be avoided, and the people who are doing something about it are the sort worth working for. Can't say I disagree with him."

"Well, Cremissius, you've come to the right place. It's all we're concerned with, right now. I'm Aravas Lavellan, First to the Clan Lavellan," she said offering him her hand. He shook it firmly until she added, "some call me the Herald of Andraste."

Cremissius dropped her hand, eyes wide. "I didn't know you were-"

"Good. I'm glad you didn't," she said with a grin. "Listen, we're about to head to Val Royeaux-"

"You can ask around there about our reputation…"

"Or you can leave now and head back to the Storm Coast, and I can trick my ambassador into detouring our route toward you, and we can pick you all up before we head to Val Royeaux," Aravas offered.

"The Storm Coast is very out of your way," he began to protest.

"Excellent. Just what I want to hear. The longer I can avoid the Chantry and human politics, the better," Aravas replied.

The soldier smiled at her and nodded. "Alright, then, I'll tell the Chief to expect you soon."  
  


* * *

 

"Is it true that Leliana knows everything about everyone?" Blackwall asked over the campfire. Aravas noticed Solas look up from the text he was racing the fading light to read; his eyes met hers briefly as they quickly flitted over the gathered travel party.

They had made camp somewhere in the countryside of Ferelden. Aravas had managed to lead them toward the Storm Coast for over an hour before Cassandra questioned their travel direction. Once she'd confessed where they were headed and why, Josephine had protested and demanded they change course and head for Val Royeaux, but she'd managed to persuade the Ambassador that obtaining more forces would be essential to their ability to stand up to the might of the Chantry should the Chantry attempt to continue to decry them. Showing up with a full mercenary group was certainly more impressive than a handful of ragtag apostates and soldiers.

Cassandra scoffed. "Only the Maker knows everything about everyone, but it doesn't hurt if people believe it of Leliana."

"You encourage it?" Blackwall asked.

Aravas shifted, rotating the skewered nug so that it didn't burn on one side; it wasn't her favorite protein, but then again neither were grubs, and she'd still eaten them in particularly lean hunting seasons. They'd passed by a small village a couple of hours earlier, and she'd stopped to purchase a few ears of corn which were ready to be roasted over the fire shortly.

"It keeps people honest," Cassandra answered. She drew the whetstone over the edge of her sword one last time before sheathing it. "Besides, if there is anything to learn, Leliana _will_ learn it. I've seen her work."

Blackwall shifted almost uncomfortably, and Aravas couldn't help but narrow her eyes at him. "Right. Good to know."

"Why do you ask, Warden Blackwall?" Josephine asked. Aravas was not expecting her to adapt so quickly to life on the road. She'd never seen the advisor in anything less than finery, but she'd donned a pair of riding trousers and a simple linen shirt without hesitation. She'd also helped them gather firewood, though she had looked a bit uncomfortable at the prospect of sleeping on the ground and had begged them to consider stopping at an inn instead.

"You got something to hide, Hero?" Varric teased.

"Doesn't everyone?" Solas asked. His book shut with an audible _snap_ of implied irritation even though his tone was even.

"Certainly not," Cassandra protested.

"Everyone has secrets, Seeker, even if they are benign. Most are not, however, benign," Solas countered. "Tell me about your brother."

Cassandra paled. "Anthony is not something to hide. It is simply difficult to speak of him," she protested.

"You once declared you were hardly a virgin, yet you speak of no lovers. Why is that?" he pressed.

"That is none of your concern! I am simply… a private person."

"Solas, I do not believe these questions are appropriate, and even if there were something scandalous in Cassandra's past, I hardly see how it is relevant," Josephine interrupted.

"It is relevant, my dear Ambassador, because the Seeker has insisted not everyone has something to hide, and I maintain they do. What of you? Is there nothing which you would like to keep private?" Solas inquired.

Aravas sighed heavily and removed the nug from the fire to let it cool, before placing an ear of corn for each of them to cook. "I don't see how this is constructive, Solas," she murmured.

"I am simply trying to make a point," Solas stated.

"Yes, we get it. We all have secrets, and Cassandra was wrong to question the intellectually superior, great apostate who has all the answers," Aravas replied.

Solas frowned deeply. "I never implied I was intellectually superior," he began.

"Didn't you?"

The silence held thick over the campsite; a tension was building which was almost palpable. Josephine shifted uncomfortably and looked as if she were about to break it when Solas answered softly. "My apologies. I didn't intend to offend."

"It is okay," Cassandra replied after a moment.

"Dinner is nearly ready," Aravas declared. "Varric make sure the corn doesn't catch fire. I need some air."

"You're surrounded by air," the writer protested.

She ignored him as she stood and headed toward the nearby copse of trees. She needed a moment away from them all to think and figure out what was going on with her; first, her comment to Cullen and now picking fights with Solas. Sure, it had resulted in the apostate apologizing – which he should do – but Solas was a debater by nature. For all his claims of preferring to be alone, he seemed to delight in discourse, to enjoy poking and prodding at a subject until everyone understood it… or at least until he had considered all of the possible viewpoints no matter how he felt about them. There were very few subjects which caused him to completely disregard others, and those tended to revolve around personal freedom.

She sighed heavily and leaned against a tree, closing her eyes and inhaling the scent of the forest around her. It was different than the scent of the Free Marches but still familiar enough she began to relax. What was wrong with her? Why was she so on edge?

A twig snapped and she jolted to awareness, her barrier coming up automatically. "It's me," Solas said and her head jerked in his direction, eyes narrowing at him. "Dinner is ready."

She relaxed back against the tree. "I'll come back soon," she replied tersely.

Solas nodded, but still joined her, taking a spot next to her as if he belonged there. There was something familiar about it, and she nearly reached for his hand for comfort but she stopped herself. She could not get past the overwhelming sense she knew Solas, but she couldn't say why, and if she thought about it too deeply it unnerved her. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "I know I can be…"

"A bit much?" she asked. He glanced at her and she smiled to let him know she was teasing.

"That is one way of putting it," he conceded; his lips twitched as if he were fighting back a smile. Silence fell between them, and Aravas noticed him shift out of the corner of her eye. It looked as if he might reach for her, but instead, he moved to lean against another tree. "Are you… well?" he asked.

"I'm fine." Her reply was terse and bitten off, and likely more of a tell that she was absolutely _not fine_ than ignoring his question would have been. She turned to look at him as he raised an eyebrow. The urge to simply tell him _everything_ was nearly overwhelming, even though she herself didn't know everything. She sighed heavily. "Maybe I'm in over my head," she admitted after a moment.

"How so?"

"Look around you!" she laughed bitterly. Violet-grey eyes met hers, and she couldn't help but feel _known_ , as if Solas understood her better than he let on. Aravas shifted uncomfortably, glancing away. "I thought… I thought I would be able to close a few rifts, seal the Breach, and go back to my clan, but they're sending me on _diplomatic_ missions to shemlen cities. I might be trapped here for much longer than I intended."

"I understand," Solas replied. "I had hoped this would be easier, as well. Think of this as a chance to represent your people, Aravas."

"I'm probably not the best one to do that," Aravas replied.

Solas raised an eyebrow at her. "And why would you say that?"

Aravas snorted. "Really?" Solas didn't answer, but the expression on his face told her he definitely didn't see any reason why she shouldn't represent the Dalish. "Did you forget what just happened? I snapped at you for… no _good_ reason. I did the same to Cullen a few days ago. I'm never able to keep my temper in check, and the last thing the Dalish – or mages – need is an angry elven mage shouting at a Chantry Sister because she says something thoughtless."

"It seems to me you do a fairly good job at hiding your emotions when you need to," Solas offered.

"You barely know me," she countered.

Solas shifted almost awkwardly, and the silence between them stretched out. Though his expression was nearly unreadable, Aravas could almost sense some sort of internal struggle in the way he sighed before turning to look at her. "Then, take my faith in you as a vote of confidence. You can do anything you wish to, Aravas. Were this the Fade you could move mountains, shatter armies, build an Empire; the force and depth of your will are so great you would be unstoppable. In light of all you could accomplish, charming some silly shemlen institution seems like a minor obstacle… and certainly nothing worthy of fear."

"I'm not afraid," she protested with a huff. She was blushing, the heft of Solas' belief in her seemed almost crushing. She never would have expected something like this from him. She stepped a bit closer to him, the urge to take his hand building again. She wondered if what she'd witnessed between Solas and Blackwall was serious, or if it was just a tryst… or something in between. "I just don't want to make a mistake which could harm what Leliana, Cullen, and Cassandra are trying to accomplish. Even after I seal the Breach and return to my Clan, they will still be here, attempting to hunt down the voice we heard and restore peace between the mages and Templars. If they don't have Chantry support that will be nearly impossible."

"I'm surprised an elf from a Dalish clan cares so much about peace between the mage and Templars," Solas began, "or what happens to an Andrastian organization."

"Whether we like it or not, Chantry politics affects everyone in Thedas, and it has for a millennium. That's not going to change overnight; if cooler heads cannot prevail and shape Circles and Templars and the Chantry into something which benefits everyone, then the peace of all of Thedas is at stake. That will affect even my clan," she argued.

"You are wise beyond your years, Herald," he replied. An intense feeling of déjà vu nearly overwhelmed her, and her skin prickled.

"We should… we should get back," she said, shoving the feeling down deep.

Solas nodded in agreement, "we should." They moved in unison, heading back for camp together still felt familiar, and Aravas crossed her arms over her chest to hide her discomfort. She couldn't help but glance at him from the corner of her eye, a warm, familiar feeling spreading in her chest. _Odd_.  
  


* * *

 

The drizzle which was falling on the Storm Coast was better than the pouring rains; in spite of oiled leathers and magic to help keep them dry and the casks of ale Iron Bull's Chargers had provided, spirits were wearing thin. Aravas hated to admit it, but the quicker they could get to Val Royeaux, the better. The fires being tended by the scouts were large and hot. Scout Harding had departed just a few days ago, leaving behind a contingent of scouts who were still spreading up the Coast; so far, things were quiet here, but Aravas had a feeling it wouldn't stay that way forever.

The Iron Bull's laugh was deep and boisterous, and it warmed her from the inside as it echoed from where he was getting another tankard of ale for her. She offered him a small smile as he handed her the drink, and she pulled the blanket closer around her. "Still cold?" he asked as he sat, a little closer to her than he had been when he'd gotten up. He stretched out, his large form taking up an impressive amount of room; she could feel the heat rolling off him, and she had to fight the urge to move closer. "I know some ways I could keep you warm if you were interested. Always did have a thing for redheads."

The offer sent a thrill through her body, even as her cheeks flushed darker. She took a sip of her ale as her eyes slid over the people gathered. As intriguing as the offer sounded, it wasn't really appropriate, was it? She'd _just_ hired the mercenaries for the Inquisition with Josephine's approval and contract negotiations; the Qunari was calling her _Boss_. "As tempting as the offer is… and trust me, it's very tempting… I'm going to have to pass tonight," she said with a sigh.

"Tonight?" he asked, his voice warm and velvety. "That's good. I can work with that. You look like you could use some fun…"

"It has been a _really_ long time," Aravas admitted.

"When you're ready, I can remedy that," Bull reiterated. There was a scuffle from the other side of the camp and Bull sat up. "Ah shit. Rocky… Rocky, no. No, you cannot test a new formula while drunk and especially not this close to camp," he sighed heavily and took a long draft of his ale. "Looks like it wouldn't have worked tonight anyway. Let me go reel the Chargers in. Hopefully, I can get them into tents without too much of a fight."

She snorted. "Good luck, Bull," she said as the man stood more gracefully than his size should allow and sauntered off to deal with… whatever his men were up to. Aravas' eyes slid over the campsite, taking in the slowly dwindling group of people; her eyes landed on Blackwall and she hummed to herself softly before she staggered to her feet and wandered over to the warrior. "Evening," she said as she plopped down next to him.

"Good evening, Herald," he replied. He took a sip of his ale and shifted so that he could see her.

"How are you finding the Inquisition?"

"It's a good group of people you've got here," he commented. "The mercenaries should help us cover more ground – if they're trustworthy."

"I'm mostly hoping they'll help the Chantry think twice if they decide a Dalish apostate shouldn't be running a heretical organization which is presenting her as the Herald of Andraste," she replied.

Blackwall chuckled, a deep, warm sound. "Hopefully they'll do that," he agreed.

She cleared her throat and shifted a bit. "You know, you're oddly charming for a man I found wandering the woods," she began.

"Oh. Is a Dalish elf going to hold wandering in the woods against me?" he asked.

"That's not-"

He chuckled again, bumping against her gently. His face was rosy from the alcohol he'd been drinking, but his hazel eyes were clear. "I always thought myself more odd than charming, but I'll take the compliment from a lady," he interrupted. "They're hard to come by these days."

"Compliments or ladies?" she asked, arching an eyebrow in his direction.

He laughed louder this time. "Both. So, is there something large and heavy you need moved?"

"Hmmm… nope, and if I did, I think I'd ask Bull first. He's got no shortage of muscle," Aravas replied. "Just… you have a nice laugh. You should use it more often." He hummed noncommittally in response. She could feel him watching her, the heat of his gaze made her flush again. "Can I… ask you something?"

"Of course, my lady," he replied, suddenly serious. His admiring eyes moved back to the fire.

She paused to take a sip of her ale, gathering her courage. "What do you think of Solas?" she asked tentatively.

Blackwall was looking at her again, confusion clear on his face. "Solas? I've talked with him a bit, and well, the man knows everything there is to know about everything."

"Or at least he thinks he does," Aravas said archly.

The Warden choked on his ale and barely managed to prevent himself from spilling it everywhere. "Or that," he laughed. "I'll tell you what- don't play diamondback with him; you've been warned. Taught him the game the other night, he turned around and beat me at it. Lost everything. I had to walk back to my cabin with only a bucket for my bits."

Aravas raised an eyebrow and suddenly the pieces fell into place. "Oh," she whispered softly. "Did he… uh… return your clothes, then?"

"He did," he confirmed with a nod, "the next morning. Kept the money, though. Guess I can't blame him too much for that. He did win it fair and square."

"Oh," she repeated, her eyes wide. She couldn't believe she had thought… she was blushing again, and she tried to hide her discomfort by taking a long drink of her ale. It must not have worked, however, because Blackwall was watching her closely.

"Everything okay, my lady?" he asked.

"Of course," she managed to squeak out. "It's late, though. I should… I should get to bed!" She tossed back the little bit of ale which was left in her tankard and handed it to Blackwall while she used his shoulder to steady herself enough she could stand. "Goodnight, Warden Blackwall."

"Goodnight, Herald," he called after her as she made her way to her tent.  
  


* * *

 

Val Royeaux _reeked_. Aravas was used to certain smells of daily life: the scent of tanning leather, the lingering odor of lye, the smells of compost and rotting greenery, the occasional scent of halla dung. With Haven, she was introduced to new smells: horses and burning refuse, the smell of tallow candles, the scent of inebriated soldiers drunkenly relieving themselves wherever they saw fit. But nothing, nothing had prepared her for Val Royeaux.

Even the glittering market, which was supposed to be the jewel of the Empire had an underlying smell of _too many people_ : an oppressive air of onion-scented body odor, unwashed hair, and infrequently laundered clothes – not to mention the sewer. Combined with its position near the docks and the wafting of rotting fish guts, and it was all Aravas could do not to gag. The shops were perhaps worse, though, with their heavily scented perfumes and their incense which burned her eyes.

As if completely failing in her mission to win Chantry approval wasn't distressing enough, as if watching a Chantry mother being knocked out by a Seeker wasn't disconcerting, as if having that same Chantry mother refuse her help simply based on the fact she was an elf and an apostate wasn't embarrassing, now… now she had to prepare for some sort of shem _party_. The invitation had arrived via messenger to the inn where they were staying, and although she'd attempted to ignore it, Josephine was not allowing that, which was how she'd found herself in a shop in Val Royeaux accompanied by her entire entourage.

She felt as if she might be the most out of place in the fancy shop; even the Iron Bull, who towered over everyone present, seemed at home with fancy silks and price tags which made her heart stop. Aravas wasn't extremely familiar with shem money since she relied mostly on barter (the few times they manage to get coin, they spent it almost immediately), but she knew enough to know the price on a single dress was more coin than she'd seen in her life.

"I really don't understand why I need something like _this_ to go to a party," Aravas huffed. She had a headache from the heavily perfumed air and her patience was starting to wear thin. "Can't I just go in my armor? If it's some sort of trap-"

"Which is likely is," the Iron Bull interrupted. Aravas sent him an appreciative glance which he returned with a small smile. He ran his fingertips over a dress made of pink silk absently, giving the garment almost longing glances occasionally.

"Which it likely _is_ ," she repeated for Josephine's benefit, "then I'll need my armor."

"You will _not_ attend Madame de Fer's tête in your _armor_ ," Josephine hissed. "The invitation is for you _only_ , the fact you are insisting on bodyguards is bad enough."

Aravas sighed heavily, shifting under the weight of Josephine's stare. She almost wished the proprietor of this particular shop would finish with his current client and interrupt this conversation, no matter how much she did not wish to be trying on dresses. "The Dalish almost never travel alone… especially into an unfamiliar situation surrounded by strange humans-"

"Yes, but I doubt they'll allow _all_ of us into the party," Josephine interrupted. "Perhaps you and I-"

"If I may," Solas spoke up, "I doubt there would be a strong objection to the Herald of Andraste and the Inquisition's Ambassador having an escort-"

"Are you volunteering?" Cassandra asked, giving Solas a withering look. Solas met it, his face impassive. He was so hard to read, Aravas wasn't sure if he was actually worried about her walking into this situation alone or if he was simply placating her. "I'd rather not attend if it means I'll have to wear a dress, so if Solas would like to be the Herald's escort, I say we allow him - that way the rest of us can go _home_."

"Oh, come on, Seeker, I'm sure you'd look great in ruffles and silk like… well… Ruffles. Shouldn't you be used to-"

"Shut it, dwarf."

"But Cassandra has a point," Aravas argued. "I can't go in a dress. If it is a trap - which, again, it likely is – then I'll need to be able to fight and run. I need breeches at the very least, and _if_ we have all of this fancy fabric it will need to be reinforced in some way."

"You could wear a dress short enough it allows movement," Bull offered as a solution. Everyone turned to look at him. "What? I'd wear a short dress if it was made of this," he nodded to the fabric he was still stroking lovingly.

"You could wear a kilt," Blackwall suggested seriously to Bull. It was the first time he'd spoken since they'd walked into the shop. The expression on his face was extremely uncomfortable and his eyes continued to dart around the shop nervously. He was certainly on his guard.

"I don't care what you call it if you make it from this. It's pretty, and it feels nice."

"You don't even wear a shirt," Solas pointed out.

Aravas couldn't stop herself from exhaling in exasperation. "None of us are going in pink silk!" she declared, raising her voice slightly. It earned her a few looks from other patrons, and she blushed a bit. "I _refuse_."

"Well, pink _is_ popular this season," Josephine reasoned.

"No, and that's final," Aravas stated. "I want breeches, and we'll need to work some sort of protection into the design. I shall be accompanied by Solas, Josephine, and Blackwall. Sorry, Bull, but I think you'd likely stand out too much. However, that doesn't mean I don't want you, Cassandra, Varric, and the Chargers there. I want you guys close enough that you'll be useful in the event this is a _disaster_ and we have to fight our way out. If we're met with any resistance, the four of us will simply not attend. This Madame de Fer will either accept my concessions or throw her party without the Herald of Andraste."

"We can't-"

"We _can_ , Josephine. Those are my conditions," she said firmly. Josephine flushed slightly and nodded once.

"I still think you ought to wear a dress," Josephine began.

She shifted on her feet, frowning deeply, and crossed her arms over her chest. " _Fine_. I'll try them on, but no promises."

The proprietor cleared his throat behind her. "And how can I help you fine ladies and gentlemen today?" he asked as Aravas turned to face him, blushing scarlet.

"Four of us shall need to be fitted," Josephine began.

"And the rest?"

"Can meet us back at our accommodations," the Ambassador replied, dismissing Aravas’ back-up.

 

* * *

 

 

_Ghimyean,_

_Val Royeaux is terrible. Never come here. It smells and there are too many people. I was asked to come here as the Herald of Andraste (hah!) to appeal to the Chantry for support for the Inquisition; I told them it was a mistake to send me, but they insisted. The Chantry is falling to pieces, more than it should be with a leader who was assassinated; something weird is going on there. Whatever you do, avoid shemlen as much as possible and definitely avoid Templars. I'm worried what problems me being Herald may cause for the Clan; please let me know if anyone starts harassing the Clan._

_Tomorrow I head to Ghislain for a fancy shemlen dress party. Me. There's some woman who is insisting on meeting "the Herald", likely to parade me around as some sort of status symbol. I demanded I have people with me, even though the invitation was addressed to me only. I'm going in with the Inquisition's ambassador (Josephine), a Grey Warden (Blackwall), and an Elvhen apostate (Solas)._

_Solas is_ _… confusing, but I think Baba and Deshanna would like him. You might even like him, too. He's very smart and fantastic at magic… and even though this might make you jealous… he's handsome, too. Everyone here is beautiful, Ghimyean; it's sort of overwhelming, really. I wish I could draw because I know you'd agree._

_Anyway, I haven't told Josephine, but tonight I'm planning on following-up on these weird clues I found today. I'm taking Varric, the Iron Bull, and his man Krem with me because they'll be the most discrete. Fenedhis! I just realized I hadn't told you about Bull and the Chargers. Next letter, I promise._

_Tell Silea I'm proud of her and give her these stories I've written down. Tell her to read them until she knows them by heart and can share them with the other da'linen._

_I hope you and Eirlana continue to make happy memories, Ghimyean. I miss you._

\- _Aravas_


End file.
